Rising Above Myself
by piccMu51c
Summary: Set during the year between The Surgeon and The Apprentice, with little liberty taken with the chronology and characterizations. New and old characters, foreshadowing, the murder of a young undergrad, and the Surgeon...he's still around.
1. Chapter 1

Set during the year between _The Surgeon_ and _The Apprentice_ or _See One, Do One, Teach One_, with as little liberty taken with the chronology and characterization as possible with the exception of Frost being introduced after the The Surgeon, corrected for in the TV show. And of course, Thomas Moore doesn't exist on TNT.

If you want to check for chronology, you can read the first chapters of The Apprentice on Tess Gerritsen's website.

.com/books/rizzoli-isles-series/the-apprentice/the-apprentice/

All copyrighted/trademarked media is owned by their respective companies/creators. I earn no money from uploaded content.

Chapter 1

The words 'Boston Regional Intelligence Center' stared back at Barry Frost as he stood outside the glass doors in the hallway, gathering his nerve and focusing on the white lettering instead of what awaited him on the other side; ringing phones and raised voices, constant motion and plenty of coffee.

Taking one last, deep breath, Frost entered and approached the lieutenant's office. The blinds were pulled. Just as he raised his closed fist to knock, the door opened and a woman glided out. Frost stepped back, following her movement across the bullpen. She was a blonde, attractive, and dressed as if she just returned from a photo shoot, not a meeting with a police officer. What was a girl like that doing here? Maybe she was a witness to a homicide. But that wouldn't explain why she was giving a statement to the lieutenant behind closed doors.

Frost realized he was staring and moved through the open door. As he pulled it closed behind him, he caught one of the officers calling out a greeting, 'Good morning, Dr. Isles. How was the trial…'

'Frost, right?' The lieutenant's voice startled Frost into action, turning toward the older man and moving forward to shake his hand across the desk.

'Good morning, sir.'

'Welcome to Boston Homicide. I have your badge and papers right here. One of the detective's will show you around, and they'll issue you a firearm downstairs.'

'Thank you, sir,' Frost said, taking the badge and examining it, tiling it in the light to catch his name, embossed in brass.

'Also, your partner is Detective Jane Rizzoli. She's not in today, but Detective Korsak is around here somewhere. I'm sure he'd be willing to help you out. That will be all,' his focus was back on the clutter of paperwork slowly taking over his desktop.

Dismissed, Frost left the room and looked around. There was a nervous rush about the place that seemed off to him, at least, in comparison to his old job in vice.

He found Detective Korsak in the back of the room, sitting at a desk with a cup of coffee in his hand, addressing the woman from earlier, Dr. Isles. Korsak was older, with solidly grey hair, and post-middle aged waistband.

'I bet the DA's got a kick outta you, doc.'

'Indeed, one of the attorneys seemed increasingly frustrated and aggressive with his line of questioning, but I can assure you, I gave my testimony in a concise and logical manner.'

'Leaving little room for interpretation.'

'It's not my place to interpret evidence.'

Korsak laughed, 'Thanks, I really appreciate it, Doctor. Maybe now we can finally get this scumbag,' he lifted his gaze over Dr. Isles' shoulder, where Frost was standing in the background waiting to be acknowledged. 'Can I help you?'

'Barry Frost, sir. I was told I could shadow you until my new partner, a Detective Rizzoli, returns.'

The older man straightened, his expression guarded for a moment as he accessed his new team member. Frost glanced sideways at Dr. Isles, who smiled at him and pushed the length of her long hair over her shoulder.

Whatever internal test Korsak was subjecting him to, he must have passed, because he finally gave a tight smile and extended his hand. 'Vince Korsak, good to have you with us. This is Dr. Maura Isles. She works with Dr. Tierney in the medical examiner's office. '

'A pleasure, Detective,' her voice was soft, and she was still smiling that Mona Lisa smile that made him feel like he was missing something. Her eyes were a light brown, and glinted with a fierce purpose, an intelligence that was as intriguing and it was disconcerting.

'Jane's one of the finest detectives I've ever had the honor to have worked with, Frost. You're a lucky man. Just don't piss her off and you'll be fine,' he laughed, albeit a melancholy humor.

'If you don't mind me asking, when is she expected back? Is she on maternity leave or something?' A hush fell over the group, and everyone who happened to have overheard. Korsak was absolutely still and Frost found himself in an uncomfortable position without knowing his error. 'Look, I'm not sure what's going on, but I didn't mean anything-'

'You really don't know?' Korsak looked up at him, any and all vestiges of humor suddenly drained from his demeanor. He looked old, and his eyes were haunted with shadows Frost didn't understand.

Maura broke the silence, 'Excuse me, but exactly how long have you lived in Boston, Detective Frost?' Her eyebrows were drawn together in speculation. She lacked the emotional darkness Korsak exhibited, only objective curiosity apparent in her expression, but that didn't subtract from the severity of the atmosphere.

Feeling as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and all eyes were suddenly on him, judging him, he answered, 'I moved into my apartment a couple blocks down about two weeks ago, ma'am,' he cleared his throat.

Korsak suddenly stood. 'I need coffee. Your desk is that one there,' he gestured to an empty space across from a desk covered in an excess of cards, gift baskets, and flower arrangements. 'I'll meet you back here in a bit and show you around.' He took his leave, heading for the café downstairs even though there was a half full Styrofoam cup sitting next to the computer keyboard.

Maura watched him go. 'I'm new here too. I started working for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts medical examiner's office one month, one week, and three days ago.' The corner of Frost's mouth lifted in a brief half smile at her precision. 'I haven't had the opportunity to actually meet Jane Rizzoli yet, but I've found that she has quite a reputation in this city. She's legendary, even, in this precinct.'

'That good?'

'That's part of it. But two months ago, there was an incident in which a serial killer she and her team were tracking targeted Detective Rizzoli, and she was captured without backup. I understand she sustained serious injuries before help arrived.'

Frost gave a low whistle. 'Why would she go in alone?'

'I can't answer that, but I do know that another woman, a hostage and potential victim, was involved. The story was published repeatedly by the media for several weeks.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

She smiled at him kindly. 'Don't worry. I'm sure Detective Korsak will understand. He was her partner when it happened.' Frost felt worse.

A door opened and closed. Everyone looked up as the lieutenant strolled out of his office. 'Good news, Frost,' he said in passing, 'I just got off the phone with Rizzoli. She's coming in tomorrow morning.' A hush fell over the room. Frost could see Korsak across the room, back from his coffee run, looking stricken and pale.

A phone rang, cutting through the silence like a knife. It was like coming up from a dive, a rush of sound after breaking through the water's surface. Everyone started talking at once, some in hushed whispers, some conversing loudly with relieved laughter. Frost suddenly recognized the nervous energy he had felt upon entering the room. This was a team overcoming a trauma. He could feel the excitement tinged with awe and not a little fear crackle through the bullpen like an open circuit. He glanced at Dr. Isles. She seemed slightly puzzled, but no less taken by the buzz surrounding them. Her strange, intense way of being confused would have been intriguing if he weren't party to the chill of a single collective thought hovering over the room.

Jane Rizzoli was returning to Boston Homicide.


	2. Chapter 2

"You know you don't have to wear the hat in the patrol car."

Frankie smirked at the passenger across from him before turning his attention back to the morning traffic. He liked being a cop, even a beat cop, and was proud of the uniform, whatever his sister and the other detectives' derogatory comments.

"I'm on duty."

"Your shift starts in half an hour. After we get to the crime scene. My car, my rules," she flicked the brim of his cap for emphasis.

"Not when I'm the one driving."

He knew his error when her hands fisted her lap, or rather, closed as much as she could stand before being shoved in their respective pockets.

* * *

><p>Korsak watched Frost from the other side of the police tape, standing just outside the doorway, suppressing the urge to retch and looking genuinely sick. <em>This is my replacement?<em> He tried to be amused and failed. After all they had been through, Jane requested a different partner, willing to go so far as to take a green rookie like Frost to get away from him. He shook his head in confusion and turned back to Dr. Isles, who looked too good to have been called in this early in the morning.

She maneuvered the scene in her designer high heels and tight black dress as easily as any of the crime scene techs, careful not to disturb the body's position or trace evidence while going about her job with a certain professional distance that seemed foreign to him. Everyone dealt with the uglier portions of the job in different ways, but most personnel tended to keep up as much casual, light conversation as possible, without being disrespectful or sloppy in their work. Korsak tended towards this end, while he knew others, like his partner, worked as close to a case as possible, personalizing each horror for a sense of renewed urgency with every case. _Well, former partner._

"They seem nervous," she stated softly, referring to the photographers, uniforms, and forensics team rushing around them. Dr. Isles was preparing a syringe. Korsak wasn't aware that she had been paying much attention to her co-workers.

"Everyone knows she's coming in today. Probably be here soon," he didn't bother to specify who _she _was, and he knew as well as anyone that the unspoken tension was anticipation. He also knew that Jane wouldn't be spending her first day back at a desk waiting on photos and processing reports. She always preferred to inspect a scene herself. Dr. Isles never looked up, accepting the explanation without comment.

Frost made his way back over, stepping through the open doorway, deliberately looking anywhere but at the body on the ground.

"There are a lot of reporters out there. News van and everything."

"This is a homicide investigation, Frost. Makes for primetime TV. It's sad, really." He looked outside at the gathering crowd. _It's too early in the morning for this._

"But there isn't anything outwardly suspicious to warrant the press' involvement. How would they know that this isn't an accidental unattended death followed by a routine investigation? Are we sure she was murdered?"

Dr. Isles interrupted. "I'm not making any assumptions until an autopsy has been performed."

"You suspect foul play?" asked Korsak.

"There are no external signs of a struggle, but…" she bent down to indicate the hair matted with blood on one side and the girl's right eye. The pupil was dilated, "an MRI will reveal any possibility of an extradural hematoma or other head trauma, the severity of which I expect cannot be explained by a simple accident or fall. I'll also run a full tox screen at the crime lab."

Korsak considered the wound. "We're looking at a blunt force trauma to the head," he ignored the look Dr. Isles gave him. "Start looking for possible weapons, Mick," directed at a CSI tech. Mick stepped closer to survey the girl's injuries, tugging on an earring while he considered the shape, then left to direct his team.

"There should be more blood," Dr. Isles stated bluntly. She didn't notice Frost wince, her attention returned to the dead girl.

"Still doesn't explain why the evening news is here in force. Something or someone's tipped them off." Frost had turned away again, tracking the arrival of another patrol car.

* * *

><p>Detective Jane Rizzoli opened the car door will little difficultly and took a deep breath, before shoving her hands back into her pockets and striding purposefully toward the apartment building, locating the officer at the entrance outside the crime scene tape trying to keep the journalists and TV reporters at a distance. Jane fumbled for her badge, which stubbornly resisted her clumsy attempts to dislodge it from her belt. She gave up, cursing her damaged hands for what seemed the millionth time since <em>that<em> day. There could be no weakness on display today. She again hid her hands within her coat pockets. Her face fell into a chilly indifference, neither cold nor at all welcoming.

She suddenly felt nauseous, a bout of nerves threatening her attempts at confidence and control as she approached. "Rizzoli. Victor 8, 2-"

"Right this way ma'am." _Huh._ Jane considered her fellow officer, who had lifted the tape for her to pass without even looking at his personnel list. She guessed most every patrol officer in Boston knew exactly who she was. With a sigh, she ducked under, straightened and squared her shoulders, feeling as if she were preparing for battle.

"Detective Rizzoli!"

Jane hadn't taken five steps before the assembled press began shouting a barrage of questions and the flashes of many cameras contrasting violently with the early morning darkness momentarily stunned her. It would seem that the list of people who could identify her on sight wasn't limited to cops.

"Does your presence today mean you're cleared for active duty, Detective?"

"Did you ever consider quitting you job in homicide or the BPD altogether after the arrest of the Surgeon?"

"Have you confronted Charles Hoyt since his discharge from the hospital?"

"Will you be attending the trial later this year?"

"Will you be called as a witness?"

"Is it true that the physician you were rescuing, Caroline Cordell, is now romantically involved with another homicide detective?"

By the time Jane recovered from her initial shock, a crowd of her co-worker had gathered behind her, pretending not to stare with open fascination as their absent colleague stood, bewildered but seemingly recovered and healthy, just inside the crime scene tape. Her ire rose with every flash and beckoning wave a dozen microphones. She hated being the center of attention; especially as the result of an event she considered a personal failure. The sick feeling returned with a vengeance. _Another headline._ Without comment, Jane turned on her heel and continued through a door labeled #915, regaining her mask of stoic competence.

It was crowded, making the air uncomfortably warm. Sweat was already beading on her brow and the small of her back, but she determined right away that she would not under any circumstances remove her black blazer. She immediately took in her surroundings, taking in every detail as she entered a small studio apartment consisting of a single room with a bed, dresser, desk, and a flat screen television mounted to the wall. A Dell laptop computer was set on the desk, and there were no pictures, posters or other decorations adorning the desktop or the walls. With the exception of an abundance of CSI equipment, the place was well maintained and absurdly tidy, in her opinion. She could also see in the doorway to a bathroom, also crowded in the limited space, on the far end of the room.

Feeling the weight of many eyes, she turned to the detective closest to her in the doorway. Jane was remarkably pleased that she was met with a new face she didn't recognize.

"Detective Jane Rizzoli?" She nodded her head once in affirmation. The new guy was young, well-dressed, and seemed fit enough, but looked as sick as she felt.

"That's me." She said simply, leaving him free to continue with his introduction or dismiss her, as she wanted to observe his reaction to her in order to gage what preconceived picture he had constructed of Jane from her co-workers. She wanted to know if they thought any less of her since _that_ day. Her reputation as a reliable investigator and a good cop had been difficult at best to build during her rise through the ranks. Jane didn't want to go through that process again.

"Barry Frost, ma'am. I understand I've been assigned as your partner. It's a pleasure," he summoned a smile as he extended his hand to her. She didn't want to ruin his apparent respect, which was weird in and of itself, but pointedly ignored the gesture.

She covered for it with a smile, "Good to meet you, Frost."

* * *

><p>Dr. Maura Isles looked up and was struck by the entrance of a female officer she instantly recognized from photographs via every major news publication in Boston. She stood and addressed two men tasked with the transportation of the body to her morgue back at the police department to instruct them to wait until the detectives finished their initial inspection of the scene, and gave permission to remove it. At no point did she redirect her gaze from Rizzoli, observing the exchange with Frost with interest. She was turned such that Maura could study the woman's profile, taking in her impressive height, pronounced cheekbones and jaw line, and a curling, unruly mane of dark hair. A black suit flattered her lanky physique. Coupled with her self-assured bearing and stance, Jane Rizzoli's was an intense presence that Maura found intriguing.<p>

At one point Frost laughed, and Maura strained to hear what was being said. Rizzoli's voice was low, the dark raspy sound at once potent and soothing. She looked at Frost with concern, going so far as to lean closer and Maura could no longer see her face.

'You feeling okay, Frost?'

'I'm fine.'

'You didn't look fine.'

'Something I ate, I guess.'

'Okay,' she didn't believe him for a second, but decided not to push the new guy any further.

"Janie!" She turned to see Mick striding toward her and smiled. He was a younger man with massive shoulders, obviously a regular weight lifter. He had always piqued her gaydar when they worked together, but she never could be sure.

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever," he didn't go so far as to hug her, but he laid a large hand on her back and grinned. "Missed you, Rizzoli. These idiots wouldn't know motive from heartburn if not for you."

"Hey now, some of us would take offense to that you know," a voice cut in.

Jane turned to face her former partner. "Hey, Korsak."


	3. Chapter 3

The tension ratcheted up to a palpable degree in the hot room, which did not go unnoticed by Maura. She waited to be addressed and continued to work, syringe in hand. She didn't know the history of Korsak and Rizzoli's partnership, or what had happened to cause the apparent rift. It was really none of her business.

'How you been, Jane?' asked Korsak. Even Maura could tell he was making an effort to sound casual.

'Since you called me 3 days ago?' Jane snarked before her expression softened. 'I'm great Korsak, really. I need to get back to work.' Maura couldn't interpret the look that passed between them, but before Korsak could respond, he was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He frowned in confusion at the display name, and turned away to take the call outside, glancing back at Rizzoli before exiting the apartment.

Detective Rizzoli gestured to Frost to fill her in as she walked toward the body, taking notice of another unfamiliar face. Her eyes were dark as they moved over Maura, considering. The weight of her gaze made Maura uncomfortable, nervous even. She, like all the other personnel, was very aware of Jane's presence. Rizzoli had learned the art of dominating a scene.

Through sheer intensity.

Frost went on, oblivious. 'According to a student I.D. card, her name is Lauren Aiken. Landlord says she's lived here for the past three semesters and never had a problem. The neighbors above and next door didn't hear anything or notice her coming or going at all yesterday,' when Jane didn't respond, he looked back to see that her attention was elsewhere. 'Um, and this is-'

'Dr. Maura Isles, Medical Examiner's office,' Maura flashed Jane a smile from her position crouched next to the dead student. Jane reciprocated with a slow smile of her own, surprised. That didn't happen very often for a homicide detective. And the doctor was gorgeous.

'Jane Rizzoli. Did Tierney finally retire or is he just too lazy to drag himself out here at the crack of dawn?'

'Ashford's last day is next Friday,' she stated plainly, 'after which I'll be filling his position. Last month he assigned me to BPD while he settles his affairs at the city office. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Detective.' Jane tried not to look taken aback. She and Dr. Tierney had never been on the best of terms. He was an old southern gentleman born in Georgia, and her reckless need to constantly measure up to the standards of her male colleagues irked him. Nevertheless, she made a mental note to speak with him before next week.

'Yeah, likewise,' Jane said absently before she became aware of her own staring and tried for a more professional response. There were people watching, not the least of which was her new partner, who seemed unaware of just what kind of burden he had been dealt by the department. She decided at once that she preferred it that way.

'Right. So, what do you have for me, Doc?' she said lightly, lowering herself next to Maura, who noticed that Jane's movements were tense, keeping her back straight as she crouched. She exhaled slowly as she settled.

'Multiple broken ribs,' she thought aloud.

'I'd be more concerned about the blow to the head,' Jane quipped before looking up and catching the doctor studying her. 'Oh,' she suddenly sounded less than confident, guarded even, and Maura instantly regretted saying anything. The brief glimpse of pain and doubt in her eyes conflicted with what Maura knew of Rizzoli, only by reputation, granted. Detective Rizzoli was described to her as a reckless, confrontational, but insightful cop, a lauded hero at BPD. _What happened to you?_

'Yeah, well,' Jane conceded and nodded toward the victim, wondering how the hell an ME could tell. Thankfully, Maura got the hint and began, her tone entirely professional.

'Early twenties. No other injuries on preliminary examination. Vitreous potassium,' she held up the full syringe, 'will indicate time of death. I'll know more precisely after the autopsy.'

'What would you guess? 12 hours, 6 hours...'

'I don't guess.' Jane looked up at her, amused and curious, always with a thousand questions in dark, beautiful eyes. Maura imagined she could feel the heat of her gaze. Ridiculous, of course, but being under the full force of Jane's attention made her slightly lightheaded.

'What's vitreous potassium?' Frost spoke up from behind them.

'It's a measure of potassium levels in fluid taken from-'

'He doesn't want to know, Doc,' Jane cut her off with a pointed look, placing a hand over her free wrist as if to restrain the words.

'Then, why did he ask?' Maura tilted her head, genuinely confused in a way that Jane found endearing. She found herself smiling again, amused by the expression on her face.

'He doesn't know any better,' her voice was softened and low. Jane tried for reassurance, smoothing her thumb over the skin of the wrist she had caught. 'It gives us a reliable indication of time of death. Leave it at that. Hey,' she turned to Frost, a theory forming that would give the poor kid something better to do than hang around, looking miserable. 'Can I see that card?'

He handed over an I.D. card with a university logo, the girl's picture, and full name. Maura felt the loss of Jane's touch acutely as she took the plastic square from Frost.

'Lauren Elizabeth,' Jane mused. Flipping it over, her suspicions were confirmed. 'See this magnetic strip on the back?'

Frost nodded, 'Looks like a credit card.'

'A lot of universities use cards like these now to give students access to their amenities and stuff while improving security. You have to swipe a card for most everything. Entrance to dorms, labs, the gym, you name it. That includes a meal plan, and sometimes an independent express account to buy stuff on campus. Are you any good with computers?'

'Yeah, you could say that,' Frost grinned.

'Okay, find a way to access Lauren's account from the school's website. There should be a separate page that allows both students and parents to add money to the card online. Get the records, and we should be able to track her movements on campus for the last few days. Request records from her bank while you're at it.' Frost was out of the apartment before she could say anything more.

'What else can you tell me?' Jane chuckled. Maura glanced sideways, taking in the smirk on Jane's face, and belatedly realized the maneuver that had taken place.

'That was very considerate, Detective.'

'Well, I haven't been to my desk in a couple weeks. I don't intend on being chained to it today with a perfectly able rookie around.' They shared a smile.

'How is it that you are already cleared for active duty, without temporary reinstatement?'

'I'm not, officially. I haven't been to the station to fill out the paperwork yet.' It wasn't a complete answer, but an evasion that Maura accepted to Jane's relief.

'Well, with your permission, I'll authorize the removal of the body,' Maura reached for a clipboard with her notes and impressions, and overlaid the necessary document waiting for her signature.

'Sure, go for it,' Jane said absently, looking around the room. 'Say, what do you think about the clothes?'

'Yours or the victim's?' Jane whipped back around to face Maura.

'Wha-? Her's, Lauren's.'

'Her taste is atrocious,' Maura remarked, referring to the girl's attire consisting of sweats and a tight black t-shirt with the university logo. Jane stood, as the girl was loaded onto a stretcher, openly laughing.

'Says the runway model. Do you always dress like that this early in the morning? Think about it, there's nothing here. No food, no laundry, dvds and the like…,' Jane took in the room again. She leaned down to test the weight of the backpack beside the body, immediately regretting it as pain shot up from her hand and up her arm. _Right, no heavy lifting._

Jane bit back a curse, schooling her reaction. 'And a ton of books she's been carrying back and forth. I'm betting that it's around midterm, and when Frost runs Lauren's card he'll find she's been spending an ungodly amount of time at the university library.'

'There's nothing ungodly about a library. And that's inconclusive conjecture,' Maura stated dryly.

'It's an educated supposition,' Jane responded in kind, 'Detective, remember?' She offered a hand to help Maura stand.

The smirk on Jane's face was infectious, and Maura found herself smiling as she reached up to Jane. She didn't perceive anything odd about the gesture until Jane hesitated and reached past her hand to lightly wrap her fingers around her wrist. Maura grasped Jane's forearm, using the strength she was pleased to feel there to pull herself up. Jane didn't immediately let go, and Maura looked up to see her expression blank and empty as she stared at their hands.

The enormity of her action hit Jane like a Mack truck. _No one touched her hands_. That was entirely too close, she decided, pulling away and shoving her hands back into her pockets, out of sight. In less than three seconds of casual contact, her defenses had locked back into place before she even realized they were gone in the time since she had met Frost and Maura. She would have to be more careful.

'Listen, it was nice meeting you, Dr. Isles. Um,' she indicated the door over her shoulder, 'I'm going to go find Korsak and start on tracking down the victim's parents.' Or something. At that moment, Jane just wanted to be rid of her, thoroughly surprised at herself. Her weight shifted back, and she turned on her heels, walking outside with long strides in a quick retreat, leaving Maura in the apartment, perplexed.

However, she realized that for the first time in a long time, she had laughed, openly enjoying the company of another person, as opposed to her self-imposed isolation of the past weeks. She had come to the scene to make a point, to prove to herself and everyone else that she was back and in control, strong. Her reaction to Dr. Isles was an unknown and decidedly suspicious variable.

Korsak ended his call, and turned to see Jane coming out of the apartment. 'What do you think?'

'She's… interesting,' she answered, distracted by her internal musings.

'The vic?' Jane attention snapped back to her former partner.

'Oh, no, that seems pretty straightforward.' He hummed in agreement. It took a moment for Korsak to understand whom she had referred to, until he realized that Jane wouldn't have met the new medical examiner in her absence.

'I know what you mean. Dr. Isles is really something, isn't she? Brilliant woman, Jane, one of the most intelligent people you'll ever meet, even if she can be a little eccentric. You know she's absolutely loaded, too? Makes you wonder why she works at all,' he said with a smile.

'Who was that on the phone?' Jane grasped randomly for anything to steer the conversation away from the ME. Korsak paused noticeably before answering.

'That was Melanie Taylor, you know, Richard's wife?'

Jane's eyebrows drew together as she ran a hand through her hair, racking her memory. 'Yeah, he used to work in drugs, but left the force… what has it been, four years ago?'

'That's right, but what he might not have told you is he left because Melanie got pregnant, and he wanted a job with steady hours to be with his family. They have a little girl now, name's Emma.'

'Why was she calling?'

Korsak's expression fell. 'Richard's gone missing. She called asking if she could come in to file a report this morning.'

'Why didn't she call the missing persons unit?' Jane's natural curiosity immediately switched to that of a trained detective, 'Does she think someone killed her husband? I mean, how long has he been missing?' Korsak's expression darkened.

'It's not about me being a detective, it's about me being a friend. She _trusts _me, Jane.'

* * *

><p>Thank you so very much to everyone who has read and reviewed, alerted, etc. I didn't know what to expect when I started this project, but I appreciate the community aspect of this site and enjoy readers sharing their reactions and feedback. Please note that these chapters are unedited. I'm open to suggestions, especially concerning the actual case at hand, as I have several scenes for significant character development in mind, as well as the ending, but I'm rather lost on the other front. I apologize if this and school cause delays between uploads. If you were disappointed by Jane and Maura's introduction, don't be. Instant chemistry over a dead bodywork environment seems distasteful to me. I have an working idea for a different scene and conversation between them in a future chapter. Again, many thanks. Until next time, until then. -Picc


	4. Chapter 4

A few glaring mistakes have been fixed in the previous chapter. This one is quite long, over 5,000 words, so maybe that will make up for the wait? As always, any comments, suggestions, critiques, and even flames are welcome. -Picc.

* * *

><p>'She <em>trusts <em>me, Jane.'

Rizzoli found herself left standing in the threshold of the apartment, looking on in confusion as her former partner walked down the drive, giving the news team a dismissing wave before climbing into his car and pulling into the light morning traffic. She watched the taillights until he turned the corner and was gone.

Did Korsak really think that their dissolved partnership was _his_ fault? They definitely needed to talk, but Jane didn't think she could give him the answers he deserved. It was still too fresh, too painful to revisit _that_ day. She couldn't even face her imagination's version of the Surgeon in her nightmares, much less the very real memories in broad daylight.

Stifling a nervous shiver, Jane became aware of the reporters still loitering behind the police tape. Not the best environment to be processing Korsak's awful insinuations. Her hands clenched painfully, fisted in her pockets as she ducked back into the room to get away from the cameras.

Looking around, she came to an abrupt and rather embarrassing realization. She had just pissed off her ride back to the station. Frankie had left in her car, which she couldn't drive anyway because of painkillers she was stubbornly making a point of not taking, Frost was heading back to the station to request financial records, and Korsak… Jane had the sudden urge to smack her forehead against her palm, but thought better of it.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and scanned the remaining personnel. 'Hey, Mick?' She tried for nonchalance.

He looked up from rummaging about in Lauren's desk, 'Yeah, Rizzoli?'

'How much longer do you think you'll be tied up here?'

He straightened and tugged on his earring, 'About an hour I'd guess, why?'

'I need a ride back to the precinct.'

'Alright, but it might be a while,' he resumed digging through the drawers of the desk, pawing through papers, books, notebooks, and what looked to be a jewelry box.

'I got this, Rizzoli.' Jane stared at Detective Crowe, somehow managing to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. _Really?_ Crowe was being civil towards her, dare she perceive his offer as nice, even. Hell must have officially frozen over. They were never exactly friendly, usually arguing towards the verge of a proper brawl. While she tried to wrap her head around the sheer absurdity, he was apparently getting impatient.

'So, are you coming or not? I'm not waiting on your skinny ass.' That was more like it.

* * *

><p>Korsak looked up from his desk to see Jane opening the glass doors to the bullpen and striding in with, Crowe?, on her heels. Seeing his raised eyebrow as she neared her desk, she shot him a look that translated roughly as, 'I dare you.' He decided it was better to leave it alone. If he had learned anything in the time that he had known her, it was that dealing with Rizzoli sometimes amounted to something similar to knowing when to just let sleeping dogs lie.<p>

Jane stood there a moment, leaning one hip against her desk, just breathing. This was where she belonged. Jane watched her co-workers rushing around, brainstorming ideas, dragging in suspects, complaining about the coffee downstairs, and was more aware and alive in that moment then she had felt in weeks.

The normalcy of working in homicide was just that: there was no normal. Jane thrived in the race against time, utilizing all her resources, processing everything she could at light speed, saving lives by hunting the monsters. Jane absorbed the motion around her, invigorated and depressed by turns. The problem with hunting monsters was that sometimes they turned the tables, and she had somehow become a victim, almost reduced to that of those she strove for everyday to protect, a last voice of justice for the wrongful dead.

'Rizzoli!' she was pulled from her thoughts by the lieutenant's barking voice, 'My office, now.' _Does he always have to sound like an asshole?_ Jane secretly thought he practiced that scowl in the mirror every morning. She pushed off the desk, running a hand through her hair, and followed him across the room. She didn't bother closing the door behind her.

'I took the liberty of have these made up as soon as both your surgeon and physical therapist gave the okay,' he never looked up, pushing a stack of forms at her to sign. She reached for the pen he offered her next, but he pulled his hand back, looking her straight in the eye.

'I'm clearing you for active duty, but I'm not sending this off for processing until you've been recertified to carry your firearm. I mean it, Rizzoli, I want you to complete a full marksmanship course before you even think about taking that out the holster,' he gestured to the pistol on her belt. 'If I hear the words 'Rizzoli' and 'shot' in the same sentence…,' he paused, 'well anyway, I'm doing you a big favor by not keeping you on desk duty.'

She took the pen to awkwardly scrawl her signature, and didn't react in any other way than to slip into her most professional mask, shutting down. He shouldn't censor himself for her sake. It felt too much like pity, and on some level, she felt she deserved a few cheap shots after the Surgeon debacle, 'Yes, sir.' Also, she didn't know how accurate a shot she was at the moment.

'What I mean is…keep your cool, just try to stay out of trouble, Jane,' he didn't sound very optimistic, 'For a few weeks at least. The student is technically still Korsak and Frost's case. Looks like the three of you will be working this one together.' Somehow, Jane suspected having to work with Korsak again wasn't a complete coincidence. Tossing the pen, she turned to leave.

'Good to have you back, Rizzoli.' Jane paused in the doorway, the corner of her lip quirking up in a half-smile he couldn't see.

'It's good to be back.' She was only halfway sure she meant it.

* * *

><p>Jane heaved a sigh as she sank into her desk chair before noticing a paper coffee cup sat near her computer, steaming suspiciously. She looked across the monitor to eye Frost as she wrapped her fingers around it and took a slow sip, letting the hot coffee burn her tongue. It was perfect. She let her eyes slip shut for just a moment and felt the drink warm her from the inside out, before opening them again to see her new partner looking rather proud.<p>

'You know how I take my coffee? Why, Frost, we've only known each other for a few hours,' she raised an eyebrow.

'Well, I didn't sleep through my detective's exam. And I might have run into your brother downstairs,' he was grinning and Jane happily returned it. It was going to be okay.

'Found anything useful?'

'I'm still waiting on the bank records, should receive her express account records any minute now from the university, but I do have access to academic transcripts, financial aid records, the works. Oh, there's my email, I'll put this other stuff up on the monitor while I deal with that.'

'Good job, Frost. Lauren Elizabeth Aiken, straight A student, majoring in English, concentration in journalism, honors classes- gees, she's taking over twenty hours this semester.'

'Sounds like a death wish to me,' Jane shot him a look over her shoulder, 'sorry.'

'I don't see any names on her financial aid records. All the loans are in her name. Korsak, did you find any parents or guardians?'

'She's an orphan putting herself through school. I've already called Social Services to get in touch with her former guardian ad litem and her most recent foster parents.'

So, the vic's got something of a routine according to her card signature on campus-'

'Lauren,' Jane cut in sharply, her voice rasping low. She was a person. A young person whose life had ended before it really began. She thought of the drive to the scene earlier, the brightening light as the sun rose over the Boston skyline to reach the small, out-of-the-way neighborhood. As a broke, struggling college student, it was probably the best she could afford.

'Right, Lauren,' Frost corrected as he scratched the back his head, 'she seems to follow a pretty steady routine that rarely deviates.' Jane moved to hover over his shoulder, watching him scroll down the list of every time the card was swiped. 'Good student, but a little anal retentive.'

'Until about three weeks ago. Her activity is sporadic, but apparently her grades weren't directly affected by whatever had her acting out of character.'

'This is interesting,' Korsak joined them at the screen, 'She worked for the school newspaper and according to the English Department's website, would have presented her honor's thesis at the end of the year. It's on investigative journalism and illegal drugs. Apparently, she was working on an exposé of a major drug ring catering to college kids all over the state.'

'Sounds risky for a young woman trying to make it on her on. What about her cell phone?' Jane started ask, turning to Korsak, but he was no longer behind her. She whipped around to see him opening the glass door for a woman dressed in jeans and v-neck sweater, her expression tired, holding the hand a small blonde child who looked around the busy space in wonder.

The mother and daughter must be Melanie and Emma Taylor, wife and daughter of former drug unit detective, Richard Taylor, who was allegedly missing. Jane considered the pair for a moment, and then turned back to Frost.

'We need to start making calls. Can you email me her articles from the paper along with her records? I want that thesis if you can find it, too.'

'No problem.'

'Jane,' Korsak walked over, leaving Mrs. Taylor and Emma near the entrance to the hallway, 'I'm going to take Melanie back to room two and take a statement of sorts. If you could-'

'Wait, hold on. You sending her to an interrogation room? And _not_ missing persons?'

'Jane, Richard is a good friend of mine, and I told his wife that I would handle this personally. I'll file it myself, and I'll meet you back here before the lab results get back. Could you entertain the little girl for a few minutes?'

Jane almost didn't dignify the question with a response, her brow arching toward her hairline. 'Really?'

'Hey, would you want a four year old in the room while you discussed the possible reasons for a cop, a drug cop, Jane, to just up and disappear? She's probably scared enough as it is,' he took in Rizzoli's angry posture, 'Then again, maybe she'd be better off with the questions.'

Jane went from annoyed to defeated. 'No, you're right. There's no need giving the kid nightmares about whatever big bad ugly is out there when her dad is probably sleeping off a hangover at a friend's place or something.'

Korsak gave her a stern look before walking back over to the Melanie and the little girl. Jane couldn't hear what was said, but summoned a smile as he returned, said girl in tow. 'Emma, this is Detective Rizzoli. She's going to look after you for a bit.'

'Hi, there,' Jane bent down on her knee to address the blonde child, fishing for something to say or do before noticing a doll in the crook of one little arm. It was a brightly dressed Barbie knock off looking thing, with a horrible plastic smile and brown plastic fiber hair. 'What's her name?'

'Jane,' she answered plainly, looking the detective over.

'Really?' Jane looked up over the blonde curls to see Korsak and Mrs. Taylor on the other side of the glass doors, halfway down the hall. _Figures._

'Yeah, a long time ago, my daddy would watch TV and say, 'Jane's a real hero,' a lot. So I named her Jane.'

Jane felt the urge to laugh at a four year girl's impersonation of a man's voice and be sick at the same time. Of course Detective Taylor had kept up with the story. It seemed like every cop in the city, even ex-cops apparently, followed the news closely two months ago. She stood, feeling self-conscious, which was ridiculous really, being cowed by a toddler_. A hero? Is that what they really thought? Would that they knew the truth of what happened in that cellar. _

'Um,' she mumbled, uncomfortable, 'how about we head down to the café? I can get you a fresh muffin?'

'Do they have blueberry?' Blue eyes brightened with excitement, and Jane couldn't help but smile.

'Probably. Let's go,' turning toward the glass doors, she started when she felt a tug on her sleeve, and then a small hand slipped into hers. She felt nauseous again. Even the gentle pressure of little fingers set her nerves on edge. They had taken maybe six steps between them, one for Jane amounted to two or three for Emma, when she stopped and turned Jane's palm up.

'What happened to your hand?' Jane's composure shattered. It was an innocent question, but made her feel trapped all over again. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her first instinct was to escape.

'Frost, meet Emma Taylor. I'm going down to the morgue,' Frost looked up from his monitor, surprised at her sharp, clipped tone.

'What?'

'Unless you'd rather go talk to Dr. Isles. She should be in the middle of the autopsy by now,' it was a low blow and she knew it, but Emma was poking at the raised scar tissue in the center of her hand. Her heart was racing, her head throbbing. Frost looked green just thinking about the morgue, 'Right, uh, you go ahead, I'll watch Miss Taylor and catch up with you later.'

Jane gently disentangled her hand from Emma, who was already distracted by the shiny badge at her belt. She practically ran out of the room, away from the little girl and her doll, calling over her shoulder, 'Get some breakfast. She likes blueberry.'

* * *

><p>The walls of the elevator closed around her, and she was suddenly back in a small underground room, darkness surrounding her, and Cordell's blood on the floor. As well as her own. Gunfire rang in her ears.<p>

The ding of the electronic display on the side panel brought her back to the bottom floor of the precinct, recently renovated and transformed into an in-house morgue. Now she didn't have to drive across town to the city office, which was nice, if she didn't think too hard about having a bunch of frozen deceased underneath her desk twenty-four seven.

Her lungs burned, and she took her first deep breath in two floors. Slowly exhaling air that tasted like the damp of a basement in some god-forsaken nightmare, Jane powered through the automatic doors, never slowing her stride. The bright lights helped drive away the dream.

Everything was shiny and new, gleaming steal surfaces and white walls. Even the tiled floor looked freshly buffered and squeaked under her boots. It looked like the sterile clean of a well-funded hospital wing, not the depressing cement and menthol ointment smell she was usually greeted with at the city morgue. She slipped from anxious and sick into her confident, professional persona seamlessly in the open space. She suspected she was no more squeamish around the morgue than her male colleagues, but she in particular could not afford to reveal any vulnerability. Men in her line of work were too good at spotting weaknesses, and her only colleagues were of the opposite sex, until today.

Dr. Isles was bent over a table, Jane's vic, Lauren, laid out like a pagan sacrifice under the lights. At least the new M.E. had enough respect to cover the poor girl as she finished. It always offended Jane on some level, to see a person laid bare like that, even to catch their killer. These people who had suffered so much in life deserved peace in death.

Maura had traded her designer black dress and heels for black scrubs over long sleeves pushed up to her elbows and practical tennis shoes, and her hair was pulled back while she worked. She didn't immediately acknowledge Jane, giving her the opportunity to study the doctor in profile. The darkness further receded to the back of Jane's memory. She was truly beautiful.

Dr. Isles straightened and turned off the recorder. For a moment, she didn't say anything, just stood regally as though her surgical garb were a priestess's robe. 'Hello, Detective Rizzoli.'

'It's just Jane, doc,' she said quietly, not meeting Maura's eyes and feeling generally lousy for brushing her off earlier. No longer uncertain, she instantly brightened and flashed Jane a brilliant smile. 'Alright then, how can I help you, Jane?'

'Just checking in, got anything interesting?'

'Maybe, but I can't be sure until I've received the toxicology report,' she picked up a scalpel, making a final cut, going through the motions to finish the procedure. Jane wasn't prepared for her reaction to the sight of the doctor's deft hands welding a tool that had taken on a more personal and decidedly sinister significance in her life. The room spun, and for a second she thought she might pass out. She forced herself to focus on Maura's face instead, her perfect makeup, her delicately arched eyebrows.

Maura, oblivious to Jane's inner struggle to stay standing, continued on, 'Cause of death was definitively a blunt force trauma as evidenced by the head wound. There are no outward signs of a struggle or any other significant injuries. However, I found four undigested orange tablets, about the size of aspirin, in her stomach.'

'Pills. Are you thinking drugs?'

'It's possible.'

'Not likely, considering she was going to bust a drug ring on campus for a story in connection with her honors thesis in investigative journalism.'

'That's ambitious for a university student.'

'And dangerous. I'm starting to think she got herself mixed up in something big,' Jane's words were rushed and it was hard to draw a breath, 'Hey, can you just…put that down? While I'm here, talking to you?'

Maura looked up in confusion to see a very pale Jane staring at the scalpel in her hand, 'You know, it's okay, Jane. A lot of people have trouble in the presence of a dead body,' though she never would have thought Detective Rizzoli to be one of them.

'That's not it.'

'Really, I wouldn't think anything less-'

'I said that's not it.' There was a harsh finality to her words that surprised both of them. In the silence that followed, a man in a white lab coat walked in, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

'Dectective Rizzoli, this is my assistant, Dr. Yoshima. If you would be kind enough to wait outside or in my office, I'll clean up and be right with you.' Yoshima acknowledged Jane with a nod, quietly going about his work. He held out a hand for the scalpel in Maura's, and she passed it to him, watching Jane's eyes follow the exchange. She visibly relaxed when he set it down in favor of a hagedorn needle, scissors, and heavy twine, gathering the materials he would need to sew the body back together.

She turned on her heel and headed for the doors. For a moment, Maura thought that she might leave, but Jane stalled at the entrance before turning into another doorway that read 'Dr. Maura Isles, M.E.'

She approached Jane some minutes later, having discarded her gloves, surgical gown, and face shield. This Jane was rather different from the confident Detective Rizzoli she had met early that morning at the crime scene. She sat bent over in one of the chairs near Maura's desk, her arms crossed over herself, resting on her knees. Her dark hair was in disarray, left free to fall around her face and hide her expression.

Maura was at a loss. She wanted to ask what she had done to offend Jane in the morgue. The detective was obviously suffering, but she didn't know enough about her or what was considered acceptable in their working environment to be able to judge how her assistance would be received. But she found herself reaching out anyway. 'Jane?'

Jane nearly jumped out of her skin at the soft voice. Maura knelt beside her, a tentative hand on her shoulder. She avoided looking at her directly, casting her gaze about Maura's office, ashamed she was caught reliving _that day_.

'I, uh, like what you've done with the place. I don't know how they got the money to do all this.' If Maura understood the abrupt, and rather unoriginal, change towards a subject other than Jane for what it was, she didn't acknowledge it. Rather, she simply stood and moved to the chair beside the one Jane currently occupied.

'The city appropriated certain funds, but I also made considerable personal donations,' she made the statement plainly, no discernable pride coloring her voice, just simple fact. Jane was reminded of Korsak's earlier comment on the riches of their newest member. Her curiosity was piqued, and focusing on the doctor was a surprisingly effective way to push away ugly memories. As long as she wasn't cutting into anyone.

'Where are you from? I mean, before you took over for Dr. Tierney.'

'I worked at the U.C. San Francisco Medical School. It was actually Dr. Tierney convinced me to move back to Boston.'

'So what are doing down here, slumming with us?'

'I want my life to have meaning and purpose, same as you. Working closely with the precinct gives me a sense of accomplishment, in that performing an autopsy for a murdered victim and say, the hospital morgue, are two very different procedures to different ends. Most of my money is tied up in charitable endowments, anyway.' Jane's mouth tipped in a half smile at the indifference with which she referred to money. _Wait._

'We're lucky to have you, then. You said, same as me?'

'What? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume anything, Jane. It's just that your coworkers, Detective Korsak in particular, speak very highly of you.'

_Not her, too._ Jane laughed, 'Don't worry, it won't last. I'm more likely to piss everyone off than inspire any kind of confidence. If we're going to be working together, let's just make something clear. Whatever you've heard about me while I was gone….I'm no hero, Dr. Isles. I'm just a cop.'

'Okay,' she considered the detective for a moment, until Jane started to fidget and she realized she was staring. 'And I'm 'just Maura,' not the Chief Medical Examiner and not to be defined by my family's social standing.'

'Okay,' Jane's smile was genuine. Her next action was well thought out and carefully measured, something she never would have deemed acceptable until this moment, with this woman. She stood and offered her hand for Maura's. 'Friends?'

Maura took her hand, her touch gentle, and looked up at Jane with a bewildered expression. She felt the doctor's thumb slide over the center of her hand and Jane didn't feel threatened or upset. 'I'd quite like that,' Maura's voice held a hint of wonder as she looked up into dark brown eyes, almost black, and warm, 'Friends.'

* * *

><p>The preliminary toxicology report came in later that afternoon, incomplete after a single day, but with information that confirmed Maura's suspicions and that she decided was relevant to the case. She had changed back into her dress and a collarless leather coat with cropped sleeves. Her heels clicked across the tiled floor as she exited the elevator and entered what her co-workers, and as of this morning, friend, referred to as 'the bullpen.'<p>

_Friends._

She approached Korsak and Frost, who were conversing with a uniformed officer she didn't recognize. Jane was nowhere to be seen. Not to be rude, she held back, a thick manila folder in one hand, her purse in the other. Korsak acknowledged her shortly. 'Hey doc, you headed out?'

'Indeed. However, I'd hoped to speak with Detective Rizzoli before I left,' she had to make an effort not to sound disappointed.

'She's with the vic's parents, or foster parents, anyway. They flew in about an hour ago. You know, she won't admit it, but Jane's good at that kind of thing.'

The younger cop scoffed, 'You can't mean my sister.'

'Can it, Frankie.'

One of the glass doors swung open, and Maura turned to see Jane leaning against the handle, her back facing her as she addressing an older couple still in the hallway. 'I promise we will do everything we can to find out what happened to your daughter. Here's my card. If you think of something else, or need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me or one of my partners.' Maura watched the pair leave, grief stricken, and her heart went out to them. Lauren was lucky to have adoptive parents that so obviously loved her. She watched as Jane made her way towards them, running a hand through her long hair.

'What's with the Yalta conference, and why was I not invited?' she joked as she picked up her abandoned coffee from the desk.

'I've received information from the crime lab that might be of some interest.'

'Alright, shoot.' Jane sat herself on her desktop, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee.

'Well,' she moved to lay the file on the desk, her hand accidently brushing against Jane's thigh, and took out a graph that indicated substances and chemicals tested for in the contents of the victim's stomach, 'these levels indicate that the pills were an illegal drug, MDMA.'

Frost joined in. 'Ecstasy. That makes sense, though it's kind of old. In the 80's students would use it because it made them feel alert and relaxed at the same time.'

'Addiction to Ecstasy, a synthetic stimulant, is rare, though it can induce euphoria, hallucinations, memory loss, elevated body temperature, and increased heart rate. These, however, were laced with methamphetamine.'

Korsak gave a low whistle, 'That will keep them coming back. Maybe she overdosed and hit her head.'

'But Lauren was writing against drugs on campus, so far as to attempt to bust a state-wide organization. How would she have become a user?' Jane addressed Maura, resting her chin on her fist, 'You said the pills were undigested?'

'Yes.'

'Then she couldn't have overdosed. Did the body show any signs of long term addiction?'

'What are you thinking, Jane?' Frost moved around his desk to lean against hers.

'That this kid got involved with the wrong people during this project, pissed someone important off, and was killed for it. The overdose is fake, she was murdered. What about you?' She gestured to Frankie.

'My shift just ended, so I thought I'd drive you home.' Side by side, Maura could see the strong resemblance between the Rizzoli siblings. Based on their accents and surname, she would postulate Italian immigrant heritage, and both shared the same dark hair, and brown eyes.

'Nah, I'll stay here. Someone's got to look for this girl's killer,' she grinned, 'Blah blah, woof woof, right?'

'And the world will still be broken in the morning,' Korsak cut in, finishing the quote, 'Go home, Jane. You can read through this stuff at your apartment as easily as at a desk.'

'Forensics sent up the laptop a few minutes ago. I'll forward all the research and documentation I find to you.' She recognized the black Dell computer from the apartment sitting open on Frost's desk.

'Thanks, guys.' Jane stood and Maura was again reminded of how much taller she was, relatively. She locked her desk. 'Come on, Maura, we'll see you to your car. Goodnight, everybody.'

* * *

><p>Jane locked the door to her apartment at 7:15pm. She kicked off her shoes and finally shrugged out of her blazer. She threw her badge and cell phone onto a counter by the door, placed her service weapon next to her laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch. Waiting for it to turn on, she took a moment to look around at the sparsely furnished living room, the blank walls. On the far side of the room, above the dining table was a map of Boston, her only decoration. It was still studded with colored pushpins she had used to mark the Surgeon's kills, tracking his footprints across the city. It was pitiful really, that she hadn't taken them down. Looking at the map served to remind her of her mistakes, of where her drive for recognition had led.<p>

She had a fleeting thought of ordering take-out from the deli around the corner. As usual, the refrigerator was empty. Instead, she spent the next few hours reading through Lauren's research and making notes of her sources, some of which were anonymous interviews. Surely she had a contact list somewhere for her own records.

Around midnight, Jane stretched and let her eyes close, relaxed. She had another week's paid leave, but going back to work today had been the right decision. The only thing that stood between her and full reinstatement was marksmanship training, but she was more concerned with the episode in the morgue, the last place Jane expected to have trouble. Her reaction to Maura's scalpel scared her. Getting over her fear became her first priority, and if that meant more trips downstairs, that was okay.

The phone vibrated just as she was drifting off, clattering across the countertop. She heaved herself off the couch to catch it before it fell. She didn't recognize the callback number.

'Rizzoli,' her voice was rough with sleep.

'Hello, Jane.'

Jane was instantly awake, rooted to the spot, staring blankly at her front door. That gravelly voice slid over her nerves, chilled her. She recognized it from her nightmares. 'How did you get this number?'

'It's amazing how helpful people can be when your name is mentioned, Jane. How easy it is to obtain a prepaid cell phone. You have a reputation here. They call you, the 'bitch with the brass balls.' Did you know that?'

He spoke slowly and succinctly, enjoying himself. She realized she should have disconnected as soon as she recognized the Surgeon. 'What do you want?' Jane Rizzoli doesn't back down.

'They look at me and call you a hero. Tell me, is that what Catherine Cordell thinks?'

Jane wrapped herself in anger. 'I wouldn't know, Hoyt, she's out of the country. Wasn't even told you're still alive. For all she knows, you died in that cellar, she killed you herself. You'll never have that power over her again you sick son of a bitch!'

There was a long pause.

'No, but I do have you now, don't I Jane?'

* * *

><p>Thoughts? I know none of this is actually possible in that a student could never undertake a project of this scope, at least not with direct involvement, and I know literally nothing about science or drugs, but when are crime procedural shows ever completely grounded in reality? I thought it would make for an interesting story. The action will pick up next chapter, in which Jane kicks ass!<p>

The friendship/relationship between Jane and Maura is still going slow, for a reason. I don't intend to write gratuitous out of character sex scenes. I want them to be drawn together organically.

As for the end, I intend to develop Hoyt's growing obsession with Jane, which I have not yet seen attempted on this site. There are plenty of origin fics, but none on the progression of his fixation, seeing as he only met Jane that night, and for the rest of the series, set a year later, they have this sick dynamic. Random Fact: The actor who plays Hoyt, Michael Massee, is the guy who accidently shot Brandon Lee in The Crow.

Until next time, until then. -Picc.


	5. Chapter 5

"_No, but I do have you now, don't I Jane?"_

_Chapter 5_

Maura entered the precinct early the next morning. She liked to have a few hours in relative solitude before the majority of her coworkers arrived. Within the scope of her career, this was without doubt her busiest place of work. The police presence was constant, both regular uniformed cops and detectives working around the clock, phones ringing at all hours. Her office on the bottom floor was probably the most indirectly well-guarded place in the city, where she should feel the safest, but the motion upstairs and outside penetrated the otherwise peaceful morgue until it too was a place of motion, the urgency of it all unsettling.

As she breezed through the main hall, she offered a pleasant smile to the man at the metal detectors and flashed her identification. He waved her through, managing to greet her with a slurred, sleepy, "Good morning," as she passed.

The café was closed, but the smell of coffee lingered in the air. Maura stopped in front of the elevator and watched a light turn on in another room across the way and down another hall, visible in the space between the floor and the closed door. It was the on-call room, intended for particularly overworked officers to rest while they are on call in between shifts or due to be. She was grateful that her job allowed for relatively regular hours as she stepped into the lift.

The morgue was dark and quiet. She did not bother to turn on the bright overhead lights of the main room, but continued into her office. The jangling of her keys as she fished them out of her purse to unlock the door echoed. Entering, she flicked on the lights and removed her coat, moving through the tastefully decorated room to her desk. She wasted no time, turning on her computer and pulling out the tape recording from yesterday's autopsy and its corresponding files. Pushing play, she listened to her own voice detailing impressions and notes as she read over her conclusions in the paperwork, deciding to finalize the report this morning to give to Jane when she arrived, hopefully to provide some insight for the detective. And Frost and Korsak, too, of course.

"_Dr. Maura Isles. Case number, 2009-02946. 9:00am-"_ she fast-forwarded through until she heard herself bagging Lauren's clothes to be sent to the crime lab, then again until she had finished collecting trace evidence from the body, and began the external examination.

"_Blunt force trauma to the parietal lobe, oddly angled. Blow delivered in a downward motion by a cylindrical object. The neck is symmetric and the trachea is midline. The neck is free of injury. The chest and abdomen are free of injury. The abdomen is flat. The upper and lower extremities are symmetric." _ She printed out photos to include in the hard copy of the report, fast-forwarding again. She heard her own voice announce the beginning of the internal examination, and then silence as she began the y-incision.

"_The chest and abdominal wall musculature is normal. Organs are in their normal anatomical positions. The ribs and clavicles are intact. The left plural cavity has approximately…" _

At the end of the recording, as she finished her closing statements, she heard the sound of a door opening in the background. It was Jane entering the morgue yesterday.

She remembered the confidence in Jane's bearing, the flash of her dark eyes, wild curling hair. Like many of the detectives, she moved with a veritable weight on her shoulders, a sense of duty and honor that Maura admired but had never observed closely, save for maybe in the soldiers that accompanied her overseas in Doctors without Borders. But where they were trained to fight, to kill, the police force was trained to protect.

Since moving back to Boston, Maura had been introduced to a wholly different side of the city, one that was decidedly darker, dangerous, and unfiltered by any resemblance of the culture in which she was raised. She met individuals, both professionally and casually, that she deemed interesting at the very least, but none carried the intensity she sensed in Jane Rizzoli. It thrilled her, frightened her, and yet Jane was also kind to her, more than could be said for certain people with which she worked. She knew that they called her the 'Queen of the Dead' upstairs, and a part of her didn't mind, was used to being perceived as clinical and cold. For whatever reason, she didn't know, she wanted things to be different with Jane.

* * *

><p>Jane had barely managed to fall into a fitful sleep when the door to the on-call room opened. She rolled over and mumbled into the thin pillow.<p>

"What was that?" Lieutenant Cavanaugh tugged on Jane's shoulder to turn her back over, "Were you explaining what you're doing, sneaking back in here in the middle of the night?"

'Probably not,' she admitted, covering her eyes with her hand, 'Turn out the lights when you leave.'

Cavanaugh stood next to the cot. "You're not on call."

"It's not like there aren't five other beds, Lieutenant. You can even squeeze in next to me if you want. No funny stuff, though." He wasn't amused.

"Jane, get up," Jane grunted and pulled herself into a sitting position. "I'm not letting you do this to yourself again. Burning yourself at both ends day and night like the Surgeon case is just going get you burnt out. You've only been back a day and there's three detectives on the job. You want to tell me what's really going on, here?"

She thought of Hoyt's phone call last night, followed by a string of threatening voicemails when she stopped answering, text messages, and pictures of Jane outside her apartment from three days ago. He had someone on the outside stalking her. Once conscious of their presence, it hadn't taken her long to spot the dark, nondescript car down the block from her front door. They knew where she lived, and she didn't feel safe there. At least, not until she bought several more locks, and got recertified to carry her gun.

"It's nothing, just people screwing with me. I'll pull it together." If it came to it, she would fill him and the brass in, eventually.

"You'd better. I need you back, Jane, and in top form."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Maura continued going over her notes and dictations for the rest of her early morning hours. A perfectionist, she double-checked everything, scanned in anything in Lauren's medical records she deemed relevant, and printed out several copies. Only for a moment, as she found herself making her way upstairs to deliver the completed files herself to Jane's desk, did she question her behavior. The case was relatively simple on her end, nothing particularly difficult or out of the ordinary, no reason to second-guess herself. She didn't dwell on the matter, but continued down the hall and decided she simply wanted to make a good impression as to their working relationship. Anything outside of that was currently irrelevant.<p>

Maura approached the glass doors that read 'Boston Regional Intelligence Center', and quietly slipped inside. It was still early, but there were several detectives already at their desks, and even as she entered, Detective Crowe burst through behind her. She tensed at his passing. She couldn't articulate the precise reason why she didn't care for Crowe, except that he had made rather forward, rude suggestions in her presence. Also, he had the tendency to address her with commands rather than requests, demanding information from her rather than cooperation. But he was a good detective going by his case record.

She was surprised to find Jane already at her desk. Her cell phone vibrated once beside her, signaling the arrival of a text message, which was ignored. Maura took in the dark color under Jane's eyes, tangled hair, and wrinkled clothes. She looked tired, and frustrated. She looked up as she noticed Maura's approach, following her movements as she came around the desk to stand next to her. Faced again with the intensity of that piercing, dark gaze, she was at a loss for anything to say. Suddenly nervous, she voiced the first thought that crossed her mind.

"Darkening of the nasojugal fold indicates fatigue and vitamin deficiencies."

Jane stared at her blankly for a long moment. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"No! I wouldn't, I mean, I-" Her panic was cut off by Jane soft laughter.

"Chill, Maura," her voice dropped an octave, and Maura stifled a shiver. Jane grinned up at her, "That's the second time you've diagnosed me. Stop it." There was no real anger in her tone.

"Sorry."

"Don't be, I know what I must look like. You, on the other hand…wow," she gestured absently at Maura's blue side ruched shirt and black pencil skirt. Maura enjoyed the way her eyes drifted down the length of her body; if there was one thing she was confident in, it was her wardrobe.

"Thank you," composure somewhat restored, she moved to lean against the desk, crossing her ankles.

"Morning, Rizzoli." Frost crossed the room to his desk across from Jane's.

"You're here early." She said by way of greeting.

"So are you two," he paused, looking from one woman to the other, "It there something going on? Another body?"

"No," they both answered, sharing a glance.

"I just came up to present my complete report," Maura handed each detective a file.

"Thanks," Jane flicked open the cover, "Frost, were you able to find any kind of contact list on Lauren's computer? I want to talk to a few of her sources, especially the anonymous ones."

"Actually, there was an encrypted file-shit!" He rolled backwards from the desk drawer he opened, running a hand over his face. Laughter erupted from the other side of the room.

"What is it?" Maura asked, startled by both the outburst and the roar of the group across from them.

"Plastic puke," he lifted out the offensive gag prop, and dropped it in a trash bin.

"Hey, that's better than a tampon in your water bottle," Jane sighed and leaned back in her chair, eyeing Crowe and his comrades with disdain. She couldn't help but laugh at the questioning look she received from Maura, "Don't let them get to you. You said you found something?"

"Yeah. When the crime lab opens, I'll get a COFEE usb from forensics to decrypt the files on the laptop."

Maura was about to offer to help Frost overcome his weak stomach vis à vis a kind of immersion therapy in the morgue, but her attention was distracted by motion from over Jane's shoulder, the approach of Detective Crowe.

The cell phone vibrated again, and Jane visibly jumped. "Jesus," she breathed, "Give up old man," running a hand through her hair and reaching for the device. She turned the phone on silent and pocketed it instead of reading the message.

"Expecting bad news?" Crowe asked.

"Something like that," Jane swiveled the chair to face him. When he didn't say anything, she turned back and rolled her eyes, "Is there a reason you're here so early? Other than annoying me?"

"Just wanted to welcome Frost to the team, Rizzoli," he smirked, "And I got a case from missing persons."

"And I care, why?" She raised an eyebrow, still not facing him.

"I wasn't notified," Maura interjected, concerned.

"Because there's no body, yet," Jane told her, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk. "They gave up looking. So, go on your wild goose chase, Crowe, and leave us alone."

"Do the names James and Emily Stern mean anything to you?"

"No." Maura thought she sounded more bored than annoyed, or maybe Jane was projecting that in her tone purposefully.

"Because Mrs. Stern had blood work done at the lab the Surgeon used to work for about four months ago."

Jane froze. Maura could see the tension in her shoulders, and marveled that her voice still rasped calm and confident, as if they were merely discussing a sporting event, or the weather.

"I don't know the name. Besides, Hoyt doesn't deal with guys, can't say that I blame him. Did the wife have a history of sexual abuse?"

Crowe looked increasingly uncomfortable. "None reported, but Mr. Stern's been charged with domestic violence on three separate occasions."

Despite the darkness in her eyes with which Maura was quickly becoming familiar, her mouth quirked up into a half-smile. "You know, you can always go ask him yourself, Crowe." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"Right, just thought I'd rule that out." With that, he turned back to his desk.

"Jerk." Frost griped, shrugging out of his jacket, and turning on his computer. Jane still stared blankly at some space on the far wall in front of her, and Maura again found herself uncertain and outside her knowledge of acceptable interaction. Again, she reached out anyway.

"That was insensitive of Detective Crowe," she reached for the hand closest to her hip from which she leaned against the desk. "Jane? Are you okay?" She didn't look up, but she didn't flinch away.

"Yeah, he didn't do anything wrong, to me, at least," she added when Frost voiced his disagreement. "I was the lead officer on that case. If anyone knows how Hoyt thinks, it's me," she thought of the map hung over her dining table. "Like any other perp I've chased." Her eyes finally met Maura's. "I just want this whole thing to blow over, so I can get back to my life.

"And I need coffee," she stood, grabbing a set of keys. "Care to join, Maura?"

"Sure," Maura straightened and smiled.

"Frost?"

"Thanks, but I've got a few things to take care of, you understand." He loosened his tie and nodded toward Crowe. "I'll call you if I find anything."

Maura wondered about the exchange as they walked out until she saw Frost rise and stride purposefully toward Crowe, realizing that a confrontation was about to take place. She hoped Frost didn't get himself fired on his third day working with them.

Jane led her down the hall, placing a hand on the small of her back, and she quickly lost her prior train of thought.

* * *

><p>"Have you talked to anyone about what happened?" Maura asked as she sipped her latte. They were seated at a corner table of the first floor café, watching the beginnings of the morning coffee rush.<p>

"I have an appointment with the precinct's shrink next week." Jane stated plainly, as she halved a bagel.

She tilted her head to one side, thoughtful. "I've never understood comparing the process of psychotherapy to primitive tribal practices of shrinking the heads of slain enemies."

Jane chuckled, sliding the other half over the table towards her. "Yeah, well, maybe it's because they think their psychoanalysis bullshit can shrink all your problems."

"I was always more interested in analytical psychology anyway, founded by Carl Jung."

Jane paused in opening a sugar packet, racking her memory, sure that she knew the name. "The Myers-Briggs type indicator guy."

Pleasantly surprised, Maura smiled excitedly and continued. "I find the collective unconscious fascinating. You know, Jung is one of the best known researchers in the field of dream analysis and symbolization." She stopped abruptly, reconsidering Jane's haggard appearance and double shot espresso.

Jane raised an eyebrow and took a bite of her bagel. "What's that look for?"

"Perhaps you would benefit from seeing a Jungian analyst about your nightmares."

"Who said anything about nightmares?" The look she gave her was clearly a warning.

"Studies have shown that %75 of dream content is negative, often a re-experience, and you recently experienced a stressful event. It was not an unreasonable hypothesis given your fatigue this morning."

"Thank you, Google. But you're wrong. I didn't sleep last night, because I didn't sleep last night, not because I couldn't sleep, or had a bad dream. When I need your medical opinion on me, I'll let you know." Jane winked at Maura, not really angry, and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Had it been anyone else asking about that day, or calling her out on her lack of sleep, they would have been fighting right now. What was it about Maura? Or maybe it was more to with the fact that she had spent the last weeks shut in her apartment and was lonely. Yet still…

Her cell phone, still on silent, lit up from its spot beside her coffee on the table. She breathed a relieved sigh when she recognized the number as an extension from upstairs.

"What do you have, Frost?"

"I found your contact list. There are several sources listed without last names, in particular a "Ricky," keeps popping up in her personal notes. She met with this guy multiple times at an abandoned warehouse about a mile from the university, owned by SAC Carbon Group, which used to manufacture carbon and graphite products. The company went under, and now the building's scheduled for demolition next summer."

"Perfect for dealing to students."

"Or snitching to a pretty girl writing a paper."

"Great work. Send me the address and meet me there. I want to have a look around."

* * *

><p>Jane pulled up to the site at 9:05am. The warehouse was an ancient looking brick structure, with a rusting fire escape and broken windows, surrounded by an empty parking lot, the asphalt riddled with cracks, and a tall chain link fence all around. She circled the area twice before noticing a break in the fence along one corner. She parked across the street, hesitating to exit her car that she wasn't supposed to be driving in the first place, considering the pistol locked in the dashboard compartment. She couldn't legally carry it, but she sure as hell wasn't walking into this place defenseless.<p>

Taking out the weapon, Jane checked the safety before tucking it in the waistband of her slacks, against the small of her back. Pulling on her blazer to conceal it, she wished briefly that she had worn her holster anyway, regardless of Cavanaugh's order.

Stepping out of the car, Jane tied back her hair, looked back down the street as she moved toward the hole in the 8 ft fence, and slipped through. Frost was nowhere in sight, nor were there any other vehicles. The warehouse loomed ahead, sections of brick missing from the upper floors. It was a bright morning and the parking lot was nothing but an open empty space with nowhere to hide. Anyone inside the building could observe her approach. She was fairly certain she was alone, as whoever had been supplying Lauren with information about the activity of the drug ring must know they've been compromised, but she crossed quickly all the same.

A side door was unlocked, a lucky find, since she didn't relish the thought of ruining her clothes on the broken glass of a window. It opened into a cinderblock hallway with a room on either side, one of which she gathered to be an office of some sort from what she could see through the torn blinds, and another door at the end of the passage. Flipping a light switch, she was surprised to find that they still worked. Frost said that the warehouse was vacant. Whoever was using the place regularly was probably siphoning off electricity from city power lines.

Continuing down the hallway, she tried the door at the end, which opened into a large open space with no ceiling, the main body of what was once a busy factory. Unused metal crates were stacked at intervals along the concrete floor, and dim light filtered into the room from second and third story windows. Jane moved slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible, just in case.

There was a staircase on the opposite wall leading to the second floor, consisting of a wrap around hallway with a wooden banister that was broken in several places, and a series of rooms along the back wall. A stair creaked under her weight and she paused on the rotted wood, listening for any hint of movement above or below her. Nothing. Making her way around, each room she checked was empty, so she continued up toward the third floor. The first room was, surprise, empty, and Jane was beginning to think the warehouse was just a meeting place after all, until she reached the corner office.

The scent hit her before she heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. Gasoline. Jane drew her gun without thinking, its familiar weight comforting somehow. What were they getting rid of, and why start a fire on the top floor? Calculating the risk, Jane chanced a peek, looking around the threshold. The first thing she noticed was an open window, and she could make out a circuit box next the fire escape, which explained why this room was selected to torch the place. Scattered on the floor were several unmarked cases of what she could only assume were pills. Moving further into the room, she was presented with the back a tall, lean man with dark hair. He was dumping fuel on a desk. The rest of the room was soaked. Even as she watched, he backed away and struck a match.

_Shit._ If she didn't act, she would be caught in the inferno. The rotted wooden staircase would go up in seconds. Jane darted back out of the room, her back to the wall, adrenaline singing through her veins.

"Boston Police! Put out the match, and step outside," she called, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. Her heart pounded against her chest. The man inside cursed. Jane chanced a glance around the doorway, and immediately drew back as a shot was fired.

She heard a rush of air, paper catching fire, and running footsteps. Entering the room, she caught the sight of him jumping through the window. Feeling the heat of the flames licking along the floor, she followed, vaulting over the railing of the fire escape and falling down the first flight of stairs. The rickety set rattled and swayed under the impact of her landing, and Jane felt the shock in her ankles, racing down the rest of the stairs while the man kicked down the ladder to the ground and rode its descent, rolling off as it slammed on its bolts. Jane was right behind him, hitting the ground running. Her recently mended ribs protested the jerking drop, the surrounding muscles contracting around her lungs.

She reached the length of her stride on the third or fourth step, long legs eating up the distance between them. She didn't spare the breath to shout, or the sense to shoot. She was bringing this guy in, not taking him to the hospital. Still no Frost.

They were fast approaching the chain link fence, and it became clear to Jane that he intended to go over it. He was fast, she was faster, but she wouldn't catch him before the jump. She eyed the welded wire diamonds extending over the top rail and inwardly winced. _This was going to hurt._

He clumsily clawed at the fence while retaining his hold on his firearm and tumbled over it, wasting valuable seconds, which was all the opportunity Jane needed. She dropped her gun and leapt, grabbed the top of the fence, planting one foot in a gap in the links and swinging her other leg over, all in one smooth motion. She couldn't contain a cry as the wire dug into her brutalized hands as she lifted herself across and dropped down, landing just as the man regained his feet.

She threw the first punch, landing a blow under his jaw and reaching for the gun with her other hand. She immediately lost feeling in her left hand, and he retaliated with a swift backhanded swing that split her lip. Turning, she struggled to loosen his grip one handed while he wrapped an arm around her from behind, lifting her off her feet. She leaned forward to force him to bend over, and as soon as her feet touched the ground and she had the leverage, reared backwards with her left arm, slamming her elbow into his face. She kicked the inside of one knee, feeling the joint give under her boot, and they both went down. Rolling, she righted herself, crouched with the gun in her good hand.

They were still for long moment, breathing hard. "Roll over, face down, with your hands on the back of your head. Slowly." Jane couldn't reach her handcuffs without first putting down the gun, but he didn't have to know that. _Frost, where are you?_

"Wait," he turned as she asked, but made sure to face her, "I'm a cop. My name's Taylor."

"Taylor? _Richard_ Taylor?"


	6. Chapter 6

This is it, dear readers. This is the chapter, or collection of scenes rather, that I had in mind from the start.

Chapter 6

Jane sat on the grass just outside the chain link fence surrounding the warehouse, watching the firefighters work. Their water hoses and chemicals would ruin any evidence that wasn't completely destroyed by the fire. Blackened brick surrounded the corner window from which she had fled. She eyed the rusted fire escape and drew a deep breath, feeling her ribcage expand with her diaphragm. It felt like someone was jamming their elbow into her side.

Frost was on the other side of the street, handing a cuffed former Detective Taylor into a patrol car. He tapped the frame as he shut the door, and recrossed the road to join her.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I guess I didn't think you would go in without me. I should have been here sooner."

"Yeah, you should have," Tearing the tie from her hair and letting it tumble messily around her face, she wished she had the energy to be angry. "What was important enough to miss the fireworks?"

He smirked, "Setting fingerprint powder in the band of Crowe's hat." Sharing a laugh, he sat down on the lawn next to her and watched a combination of smoke and steam rise into the late morning sky. It seemed like Frost was fitting in just fine.

"So you know the guy?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "Korsak's gonna be pissed."

* * *

><p>Korsak watched in disbelief as Richard Taylor was escorted, handcuffed and limping, through the main lobby by two uniformed cops. He was not looking forward to making the phone call to Mrs. Taylor, telling her that her husband is in custody for the assault of a police officer and likely involved in an illegal drug ring, not to mention implicated in the death of an undergrad. Several nasty looking bruises were developing on his face, and Rizzoli didn't look much better striding in behind them, flashing the bronze badge that hung around her neck to the guard.<p>

Blood stained the corner of her mouth, and he suddenly remembered bursting through a basement door, finding his partner pinned to the ground by her hands, dark eyes wide and starring as she tried to lift herself up, her breath breaking on an angry sob. Another woman, Cordell, was calmly directing him to restrain Jane from causing herself any more harm in the background, before she passed out herself. There was so much blood.

He decided that if he went his entire life without seeing Jane bleed again, it would be too soon. Instead of despairing at the odds of that, he resorted to anger. "Jane! What the hell?"

She held up a hand to stop him as she continued forward. "I know, I know. I already got the speech from Cavanaugh. I don't want to hear it."

"At least get your face looked at. I'll drive you." He followed her through the main hall, past the café, and tried to ignore the open stares of the surrounding personnel. He didn't know if they were more interested in Taylor's appearance than Jane's.

"And miss questioning your boy, Taylor?" she scoffed as she made her way to the elevators. "Not a chance. Dude shot at me."

"Someone needs to take a look at you first." To his surprise, she actually paused and considered her options.

"Okay then. I'll go see Maura. Dr. Isles."

"The medical examiner?"

"Why not?" She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "There's got to be a freezer full of ice down there somewhere."

"Because she probably hasn't treated a live patient since college," he watched her duck into the lift, turning to face him with eyebrows raised. "Fine," he reached through the closing stainless steel doors to jab the basement level call button before she could select to follow Taylor upstairs. He held her gaze as they slid shut between them.

* * *

><p>"Turns out, the perp is the missing ex-cop that Korsak's looking for, and the worst of it all is that he's one of us. How could-ow!"<p>

"Sorry," Maura said softly, moving her fingers carefully over Jane's sixth and seventh ribs, applying increasing pressure and feeling the hitch in Jane's breathing. She flattened her palm against Jane's abdomen, noting the contours of muscle beneath her hand, the warm, smooth skin. "Take a deep breath."

Jane obliged, leaning against an examining table, empty but for a generic medical kit and her discarded blazer, while Maura stood before her, feeling her diaphragm expand and intercostal muscles contract, the motion smooth and painless for now. In the back of her mind, she acknowledged to herself that she wasn't unaffected by the touch.

On some level, she was attracted to Jane, but instead of confronting the issue, she compartmentalized her feelings for later reflection. She was not used to having to deal with such things. At work.

Towards another woman.

"You're healing well, Jane, and while you may feel strained, I don't believe you pulled or reinjured anything falling down a fire escape. However, if you develop trouble breathing, you really should go to a hospital."

"I've had enough of hospitals this year," she huffed and readjusted her shirt while Maura turned toward the sinks to run cold water over a white cloth, wrapping it around an ice pack, "Thanks, again. I know this kind of thing isn't your usual."

"Well, I'd like to think simple first aid isn't above my pay grade," she said with a smile, returning to Jane's side, folding the cloth. "You're welcome." Reaching up to brush the dark hair away from her face, Maura held the cold compress against her cheek, the beginning bruise visible in the florescent light. She waited for Jane to take it from her, and smoothed her thumb over Jane's split lower lip when she drew away. She felt Jane's blatant stare as she picked through the open first aid kit, fishing out an antiseptic spray.

"Shall I take a look at your hand?" she asked, indicating open abrasions over the knuckles where her fist had encountered Taylor's teeth. Jane hesitated briefly before offering it up for her examination.

"I don't understand. I mean, I've seen cops turn dirty, but I can't believe Taylor would kill an innocent kid." Maura couldn't determine whether she was more angry than upset, or simply disappointed. "What can you tell me about the killer based on the autopsy?"

"Given the position and angle of the blow to the victim's skull, I would conclude that the murderer is left-handed and likely less than five feet, eight inches in height, or in a position that similarly compromised their stature when the student was struck." She applied the spray and cleaned the scrapes gently, turning Jane's hand over in hers to see that her palm had swelled slightly. The raised scar tissue in the center was irritated and red.

"I'm five ten and Taylor's taller than me." Jane thought aloud, recalling their fight and considering the punch to the right side of her face that was delivered by his left hand. But then he would have been holding the gun they were both struggling for control of in his dominate hand. "And he's right-handed. Maybe he didn't do it, but he's still involved somehow."

Her fingers twitched under Maura's and Jane looked down, taking notice of their position for the first time. Her eyebrows drew together in growing unease. "I can't feel that." Her voice rasped softly.

"Nerve damage?" Maura asked, surprised. Her only answer was a nod. "Has this numbness happened before?"

"After the first surgery. They did a nerve graft after that." Jane cleared her throat, wanting to drop the subject, but she didn't jerk away. Maura continued, oblivious to her discomfort.

"Then you probably developed a nueroma, a gap left from the procedure, during your recovery. By taking portions of a sensory nerve harvested from another part of the body, the graft then connects the fibers from the proximal end to the distal nerve segment," she mused, tracing Jane's palm with the very tips of her fingers. "Anything?"

"No."

Maura continued drawing random patterns over her hand. They found that Jane had partially regained sensation in three of her fingers, but was otherwise numb to the experience. "The fact that you can feel anything so soon suggests this is the result of temporary swelling. You should be fine," Maura reassured when their eyes met.

The expression on Jane's face, not a smirk for once but a genuine smile, soft and shy, made her heart melt. The barrier she previously erected between her present position and the emotions she had not yet put name to disintegrated, and she was flooded with some unknown rush she couldn't process.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Click, Click…click.<p>

"Alright, Jane, just…just stop. I got this," Frost approached Jane in the bullpen, whose one-handed typing attempts were failing piteously. Anyone could tell she wanted to be anywhere but behind the desk.

Korsak saw the indignation in Jane's expression and knew Frost was facing down an episode of classic Rizzoli temper showing itself. Therefore, he was nothing short of amazed when she stood from her chair and gestured for Frost to continue, her mood stormy and distant. Frost took it stride. Korsak couldn't believe what he was seeing. Frost had just single-handedly stood up to Jane Rizzoli, going so far as to issue a command to her. _What the hell? _

"Korsak, what room is the suspect in?" She stopped in front of him.

"No way, Jane. You shouldn't-"

"Shouldn't what, Korsak? Do my job? I'm just gonna talk to him."

_Was that supposed to be funny?_ "Yeah, when was the last time you conducted an interrogation and 'just talked?" He scoffed.

"Not the point. Later guys."

"Jane!"

* * *

><p>Jane moved quickly down the hallway, trying to inconspicuously determine where Taylor was being held as she crept and hoping she hadn't missed much.<p>

"Rizzoli," The door she had just passed opened abruptly and Jane spun, heart pounding, to find Cavanaugh standing there.

"Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

He smirked. "What took you so long?" Gesturing for her to enter, he stepping aside as she passed and closed the door behind them. Jane found herself in the familiar observation room, surrounded by the electronic hum of recording equipment. Everything seemed set and ready to go. She could see Taylor fidgeting in the inner, windowless room through the two-way mirror. From a chair in the corner rose a tall man with strong features and blonde hair. Jane felt a grin spread across her face.

"Damn, it's good to see you, Rizzoli."

"Danny," she moved forward to be caught up in his arms. "How are you? How's your family?"

"Good," he pulled away smiling. "My youngest is starting kindergarten this year and it's about to kill me. Also," his added with pride, "I finally quit smoking."

The implications of that achievement set in and Jane ducked her head, running a hand through her hair. Danny's father had lung cancer. She had been in recovery at Boston General Hospital when he died. "Yeah, I heard. I am so sorry. I would have been at the funeral if I wasn't-"

He cut her off before either of them could revisit the unpleasant memories of recent months. "I know. It's okay. We're both okay. Well, we'll be okay."

"Detective Clarke is going to observe and advise the investigation from here on out." Cavanaugh said from the doorway.

"We're happy to have somebody from Drugs on this one," Jane said, composing herself, all business. "Where's your partner?"

"Bobby's following up a lead on our case in Charleston."

"Right," she turned toward the inner room, taking a moment to watch Taylor through the mirror and gather her resolve. She straightened her shoulders. "Let's do this."

The door burst open. Taylor looked up, untroubled by their sudden entrance. He knew what to expect. Clarke took the chair next to the table, which had been moved to the far side of the room, per Jane's preference when she conducted an interrogation. In her opinion, it was a major error to have any barrier between her and the subject.

A guilty suspect used it as a shield, both physically and psychologically, to feel more confident and protected when lying to the investigator. And she had suffered more than enough bruises from a thrown table to testify to the occasional emotional outburst. In addition, the table concealed the subject's lower body movements, critical for interpreting nonverbal behavior.

Jane slid her own chair in front of Taylor, the scraping motion quiet over the short fiber carpet, which was installed to absorb sound. The chairs were armless, so as not to restrict movement, and the walls were blank.

"Alright Taylor," she began as she took her seat, "We both know what happens next. You want to tell me how an ex-cop gets involved with the dealers he used to bust?"

"I'm still a cop," he said, confidently facing Jane without averting his gaze from hers.

"Right," Clarke spoke up behind Jane, thumbing through a file on the table before him. "A cop who fakes evidence, shakes down dealers and then works for them, a cop who steals the drugs and deals themselves? That kind of cop, Ricky?"

Jane was taken aback. Korsak had told her Taylor had quit to spend more time with his family. She looked back at Danny, raising an eyebrow in question. He acknowledged her confusion with a nod towards the subject cuffed to his chair.

"Little known department secret, Jane. My colleague here didn't quit. Rather, he landed himself five years' probation for conspiracy to steal drugs from suspects and give the dope to snitches. A regular vigilante, this one," Danny gave a short laugh full of distain, "Gives all of us in drugs a bad rep."

Taylor finally spoke up. "That's not it at all. Put yourself in my shoes. It's tough to legally find evidence of a drug deal between a willing buyer and seller. To make it stick you're going to have to lie about it on the witness stand. Everybody knows you're lying - the prosecutor, the judge, the bailiff - and nobody complains because that's how you get the job done.

But no matter how many drug dealers you bust, they are instantly replaced. No matter how many tons of drugs you seize, the flow never stops. No matter how much dirty money you confiscate, it keeps bubbling up out of the sewers.

So maybe the tenth time or the twentieth time you hand over a suitcase full of cash to the evidence locker, it dawns on you that this is Mission Impossible. Why not get in on the action and kick a little ass while you're at it."

Danny closed the folder with a grunt, derision written all over his face.

"So you were working undercover within the operation, without authorization. Is that why you were helping the English student? Was she the only person that would take you seriously anymore? And not recognize you?" Jane shook her head in disbelief. This was so messed up. "What's more important, did you kill her?"

"What? No!" Taylor reacted aggressively, lunging forward at Jane to stand up, but was restrained by his cuffed hands, attached to the chair behind his back. He slumped back and sighed heavily. "Yes. Kind of. It's my fault that she's dead. Because I got her involved, they killed her."

"Who?"

"I don't know which guy, specifically. It was a big break for both of us. Months of hard work-"

She interrupted before this interrogation devolved into a long, drawn out monologue of self-pity. "Focus, Taylor. You can still help us bust this ring, and catch Lauren's killer. But you have to tell us everything. Why didn't you go to the police after the murder at least? And if you're working against them, why were you destroying evidence at the warehouse?" _Why did you run?_

"They hadn't linked me to her yet. I didn't want to risk blowing my cover, so I kept working. Even that's gone now, thanks to you," he sneered at Jane before addressing Clarke, "If you move quickly, I can give you the location of the next big supply run. The delivery is this Friday."

"That only gives us tomorrow to organize a whole operation. They probably already know we're on to them and have already fled the state," Clarke sounded skeptical.

"And they probably know you drug boys by sight. No, this stays in Homicide for now. Cavanaugh can order a SWAT team for the bust just as easily, and we'll have a game plan set by tomorrow afternoon," she stood to leave, turning back to face Taylor as she neared the door.

"You must have one hell of a guardian angel."

"Maybe I'm just borrowing yours." He kept his gaze on her face, but she still fought the impulse to hide her scarred hands within the pockets of her blazer as she made her exit.

* * *

><p>Jane shrugged out of her coat as she approached her desk, slowing her steps to sneak around unnoticed before flinging it at the person spinning in her chair. Frankie laughed, pulling it off his face and jumping up to hug his sister.<p>

"You should probably call Ma, she's kinda pissed," he said into her hair before releasing her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great," she tried for her most convincing smile. Frankie was always easier to fool than their mother was, though. She glanced at the clock hung above them, "How did she find out this time?"

"Neighbor's son is a fireman who was at the scene." He straightened his hat and held up her keys, seemingly conjured out of nowhere. "And you weren't supposed to be driving. Pain meds and all."

Jane's eyes went to her blazer on the desk to Frankie and back, "Really? Smooth lift, Frankie."

He bowed twice, mockingly. "Thank you, thank you."

Jane's mood lifted like it always did in response to his antics, and she felt the pressure of the interrogation room slip from her, but she still tried to devise a way to get her keys back. Car-pooling with Frankie was fun, being dependent on his schedule wasn't so much.

He pulled out a sandwich from the café, confirming to her that he was on an afternoon break before his evening shift. He offered her half, but she shook her head and pulled out her cell phone. She debated the sanity of this decision for only a second, and then hit speed dial. While it rang, she lifted herself to sit on the desktop and addressed Frankie.

"Did you stop by the hardware store this morning?"

"Yup," he talked around a mouthful of food, "They had everything you asked for. But why do you need another lock for your door, Jane? And a deadbolt. And pro grade locks for all your windows?" His tone was suddenly serious, ever the protective brother. This made Jane feel both loved and saddened at the same time.

She was always the strong one, never needed anyone. Until _that_ day when everything changed. Frankie had been wonderful throughout her recovery. He had really stepped up during a crisis and even grown up a bit.

"Is someone threatening you?" At that moment, all the pent up emotion of the past months showed, and Jane was certain that her beloved little brother could have hurt someone.

"Nah, just my mind playing tricks. Everything's fine." _So what's the real difference between us, Hoyt? I willingly lock myself into my cell._

"Jane?" A female voice came on the line.

"Hey, Ma."

"Oh my God, she lives! Frank! It's Jane, get in here!" Jane winced as Angela Rizzoli yelled across the house directly into her ear. "How you get yourself into trouble as soon as you go back to work, I'll never know. And did you think to call me? No! Why couldn't you have chosen a normal job? And Frankie! He has to do everything you do."

Angela was loud enough to be heard by Frankie, seated beside her, and he chimed in, "Just be glad she didn't go into the military, Ma." While they laughed, their mother didn't see it as even remotely funny.

"Is that your brother? Don't even joke about that!"

"Ma! Ma, slow down," Jane thought about her apartment, the bare walls and the map of Boston that dominated the space, like her job dominated her life. It was riddled with pushpins that had marked the Surgeon's kills.

That investigation still hung over her every waking moment, and crawled through her dreams. Not to mention the dark, nondescript car she kept seeing in her neighborhood, the stalker Hoyt had somehow hired to watch her apartment. _Am I really just being paranoid?_

The glass doors to the bullpen opened, and Dr. Isles slipped through like a breath of fresh air, turning heads all around the room. Watching Maura, calmly moving through the space in her designer clothes and high heels, poised and self assured, Jane suddenly felt weighed down in comparison, haunted by a thousand painful memories.

She decided that from this moment on, she was taking her life back, damn it. She could be that strong person again; the big sister Frankie looked up to, the high strung but dependable daughter, the headstrong detective.

"Listen, how would you feel about helping me decorate my apartment?" After a few seconds, she put the phone down, letting Angela excitedly, and deafeningly, list all the supplies and paint they needed to purchase. She wouldn't get in another word anyway.

Frankie stood as Maura approached, dumping the remains of his dinner in the trash bin. "Well played," he said as he made to leave, "Love you, sis. See ya later." He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Dr. Isles on his way out, back to his beat on the crowded streets of Boston.

"How can I help you, Maura?" Jane grinned at her from her perch.

"I'm going to my office at the city morgue for rest of the workday, and I need these files delivered to the Lieutenant, who doesn't appear to be in at the moment. Perhaps you or Frost could see to it that he gets them?

"Also," she added in a small voice, "I wanted to check on you, I mean, make sure you're okay. Feeling okay. I don't know, exactly." Jane thought her confusion was cute.

How long had it been since someone outside of her immediately family, or Korsak, had thought to just "check on" her? Granted, Jane's social detachment was usually either self imposed or work related. She didn't need a boyfriend hovering over her, waiting to hear from her every day and worrying. She had her mother for that.

Still, for all her random expertise and medical dialogue, Maura was sweet. There was a naiveté about her that Jane felt she herself had lost a long time ago. It couldn't hurt to get to know her better.

"I'm great." This time, she actually meant it. She stood from the desk. "Say, could you get me in to see Dr. Tierney?"

"Sure, if you wanted to join me, I'd be glad for the company," Maura's expression brightened. "Is there any reason he wouldn't want to see you?"

Jane thought of the last time she had seen the Doctor, up to his elbows in The Surgeon's latest victim. Except for maybe Catherine Cordell, he knew how Hoyt worked better than any of them, was intimately familiar with his M.O., and knew what he would have been faced with if Jane had been rolled up to his table.

What Hoyt might still intend to do to her. She allowed that thought to race through her mind for the first time.

"No."

"Well then, shall we?" Maura smiled up at her, purse in hand.

* * *

><p>The taillights of Maura's Lexus flashed from its spot in the dim garage. Jane took one look at the shiny black surface and balked.<p>

"Really? You know, I can catch a bus or something. I probably smell like smoke from the fire this morning."

"Nonsense," Maura slid into the driver's seat, "Is there something wrong?"

"I guess not," Jane murmured as she opened the passenger side door and folded her long legs into the car. The interior looked and smelled new, and the leather was cool from sitting the dark garage all day.

"You don't." Maura said simply as she started the engine. It purred softly as she backed out of the space and drove out of the parking deck.

"What?" Jane watched them pass her own Subaru.

"Smell like smoke from the fire."

"What do I smell like then, Dr. Isles?" Jane chuckled. She was self-conscious of the fact that she hadn't spent the previous night at home, and therefore, had not showered this morning.

The brake lights of a dark car turned on as they passed it, reversing smoothly behind the Lexus. After Maura pulled into traffic, the driver waited for several cars to fill the space between them before following at a safe distance.

"I would say Lavandula angustifolia. English lavender."


	7. Chapter 7

A short update, but relatively quick since the last chapter was posted. Forgive me for any editing errors and as always, any comments, suggestions, critiques, and even flames are welcome. Many thanks to everyone who has favorited the story and written a review.

Chapter 7

Jane knocked once before entering the office. Dr. Tierney looked up from behind an expensive looking wooden desk, surprised to see her. Or perhaps he was simply offended by her abrupt and unannounced entrance. His hair was more white than gray, and he had grown out his beard since she last saw him. He looked like what he was, an aging southern gentlemen, a class act. But just then, he seemed older and more weary than she had ever seen him.

"Hey, doc." Now that she stood before him, her thoughts scattered in a million directions and she almost regretted coming at all. She cleared her throat. "I heard you're leaving."

He leaned further back in his leather chair and pulled off his glasses, spinning the frames between his fingers. "You heard right. I'll be in Atlanta by the weekend after next." In the many years spent living in Massachusetts, he had never lost his southern drawl. It used to grate on Jane's nerves when she first started working in Homicide. Not that she had any room to talk when it came to accents. Those early days of her career seemed a lifetime away now.

"You'll be missed. It's been an honor," she said sincerely.

Apparently, Tierney had his doubts. "Says the girl who jumped down my throat for suggesting she exercise anything resembling decorum, however remote." He had never really grown accustomed to her bluntness.

"One can only hope you and your coworkers treat my replacement better, what with her choice to work so closely with the police department." His steely gray eyes, a faded color that might once have been blue, pierced through her. He was probably trying to puzzle out what she was doing in his office this evening.

"I have a lot of respect for Dr. Isles, sir."

"Do you, now?" he rested his chin in one hand, still sounding skeptical, "That's good to hear. Is there anything I can do for you, Detective? I rather doubt you're here to gage how much I know about the surprise retirement party your people and the morgue staff are planning next week." He smirked.

She couldn't help but smile. "No, that's not it." She hadn't known about any retirement party until he said it.

"So," she began in an effort to sound casual, "What will happen when the Surgeon case goes to trial later this year if you're gone?" She was nervous, not entirely sure why this was so important to her. She and the doctor had nothing in common but for the human remains that passed across his autopsy table. And Hoyt.

The truth was Jane wanted an ally at the trial. Someone who knew the true nature of the monster that was Charles Hoyt. Between Dr. Cordell's past experience, and Tierney's pathology, Jane had pieced together the demented mindset of a killer and immersed herself, following the Surgeon down a path that battered her psyche, but ultimately allowed her to track him down. Not even Korsak had worked the case as closely. She honestly didn't think she could sit across from that manic creature, look him in the eyes, and give her testimony to the court.

Cordell was the lucky one. She had gotten out of the entire mess. The E.R. doctor had faced her own personal hell and shot the bastard herself. As far as she was concerned, Hoyt died that night and she could finally start her life over. A real happy ending.

In her mind, Jane didn't save anybody that night. Cordell saved herself, and Jane refused to take that power from her.

Dr. Tierney gave a rattling cough, and Jane could see the darkness she felt mirrored in his solemn features. He understood.

"I'm sorry, Jane," his voice was drawn and quiet. "I'm retiring. I won't be called to the trial as a witness, and I simply refuse to fly up for it. I'm finished with this."

"What?"

"That case was my last. The things he did to those women…I'll never be able to erase those images," he closed his eyes briefly, "My entire career has been a constant reminder of the fragile good in men, and the ease with which it is broken. I'm tired, Detective."

Jane felt the walls pressing in around her. For a fleeting moment, she deemed him a coward, a surge of anger, bright and burning, swept through her. He was abandoning the department when he was needed the most. He was abandoning her to go before a judge, attorneys, and civilian jurors who had no conception of what they saw, what she had survived.

"A representative from this office will present my report to the judge in my place."

"Not Dr. Isles." Jane's reaction was immediate and violent. Every protective impulse she had welled up within her. She would keep Maura as far away from the Surgeon case as she possibly could.

Tierney considered her in silence for a long moment, "Very well."

With that, Jane turned on her heels and exited the office. There was really nothing more to be said.

* * *

><p>In the hallway, Jane paced. Never in her life had she felt this alone.<p>

Even behind bars, Hoyt scared the shit out of her. Now he had fixated his obsession on her, which made no sense. She wasn't his type. She wasn't a victim, except that now she was. She was his.

"_No, but I do have you now, don't I Jane?"_

"Oh God," she breathed, defeated, as her back hit the wall and she slumped into the carpet. She held her head in her hands, eyes tight shut, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack. Her heart raced, beating itself against her chest, and she fought to breathe normally.

A door opened somewhere, but Jane couldn't pick herself up from the floor. Her vision blurred as a watery image of black heels swam before her.

Maura crouched next to her, silent and still as she gauged Jane's behavior. Without speaking, she circled her fingers around each of the detective's wrists, pulling her hands from her face. She waited patiently for Jane to meet her eyes, and the emotion she saw in them grounded her. For all her awkwardness, Jane decided that Maura was truly an empath at heart. Or maybe it was just Jane.

Slowly, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the bruise at Jane's jaw, then moved to cradle her face in her hand. Jane didn't know what she was feeling in that moment, but she was broken, and this woman was offering her comfort. She leaned into the touch, without breaking her gaze.

Maura smoothed her thumb over Jane's cheek and the corner of her mouth, much like she had earlier at the precinct. Jane signed heavily as she pulled away, but Maura didn't stand. Instead, she moved closer, folding her legs under herself to sit on the floor.

When she reached for her again, Jane didn't think twice, accepting the embrace. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and Maura's perfume smelled so good. She was warm, and she could feel fingers pulling through her long hair. At first, Jane held onto her tightly, as if afraid she would frighten Maura away with the darkness, her waking nightmare. She had never been this vulnerable in front of another person, save for when Hoyt held a scalpel to her throat.

As she slowly relaxed into Maura, her mind drifted, and time meant nothing to Jane. They might have stayed like that for minutes or hours, weeks, she didn't care.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jane emerged out of the cloud of steam that was currently her bathroom after a glorious twenty minute shower in a soft cotton robe. She roughly toweled her hair dry as she moved through the apartment, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. She was relaxed, emotionally numbed, and thoroughly exhausted.

Stacked in the living room was a tower of paint cans, each a different color, assorted brushes, a tarp, and the last six months worth of _Better Homes and Garden_ magazine, courtesy of one Angela Rizzoli. _So much for this being a collaborative effort._ Jane looked around, trying to imagine what the place would look like when they were finished.

Her gaze landed on a small trophy placed at eye level on the bookshelf. It was a bronze figurine of a police officer with weapon drawn set on a dark wood block. The engraving read:

TOP MARKSMAN

48/50

JANE RIZZOLI

She sighed heavily. Before she could really regain control of her life, remake herself, and build herself back up, she needed some measure of closure. Like her home, she needed to reclaim her firearm.

It was a common mistake, really. Most cops tended to rely on the confidence that carrying a service weapon and a badge gave them. She knew the truth: they hid behind them. Neither had done her much good against a two-by-four to the head.

Whatever authority she thought she had meant nothing. If Hoyt hadn't been as sick as he was, hadn't felt like drawing out the whole affair with her like he did with his actual victims, he could have ended her right there with her own piece. Instead, it was Cordell who had claimed it for herself and ultimately protected them both.

With renewed purpose, Jane decided that tomorrow she was taking it back by getting recertified at the firing range. Perhaps she could even beat her own record. She flexed her fingers with a grimace. Or maybe not.

Her mind made, Jane got ready for bed, pacing through the rooms for what must have been the fifth time that night, checking all the windows and locks. Peering out into the street, she didn't see any sign of the creepy dark car. Even stalkers had to sleep sometime. Or maybe she really was being paranoid. Hoyt couldn't have taken those photos from prison though…

She moved to the front door and slid the dead bolt home with a satisfying thump of well-oiled steel. _Thanks Frankie_.

In a heap next to the front door was her blazer, where she had discarded it immediately upon arrival. Picking it up off the floor to put away, she noticed the glint of a long golden strand of hair standing out against the black collar, and smiled. She wondered that if she were to put her nose to the material, maybe Maura's unique perfume still lingered.

It was a rare moment for Jane to break down, more so in front of someone openly. She prided herself on staying strong under pressure, because any weakness was picked up immediately among her peers.

There were consequences to being the only female detective in the unit. In both her professional and personal life, Jane sometimes felt she had to be twice as tough, work twice as hard, and screw up only when absolutely necessary, which was far too often recently.

With Maura, a woman she barely knew, it was different. It should have been weird, but it wasn't. She didn't feel threatened by her concern, and Maura didn't pry. Jane couldn't have articulated the crashing despair that had surrounded her in the office earlier that evening if she wanted to. She was still scared senseless, but knew that somehow things would eventually get better. Hoyt was going to be sentenced to lifetime incarceration in maximum-security within the year.

And it had felt so good to be held, another rare occurrence for Jane lately. If they had stayed much longer, she thought she could have fallen asleep in Maura's arms.

As it were, she had roused herself enough to realize that the doctor had work to do, and she shouldn't keep her from it. Completely drained, Jane had called a cab despite Maura's protests. Sleep would come quickly tonight, she thought as she crawled into bed and hoped that the nightmares were temporarily held at bay. Just this once.

* * *

><p>Korsak had a dog.<p>

Maura was disappointed to find that Jane was nowhere to be found and, according to Frost, not answering her phone, when she entered the precinct the next morning. Instead, she was greeting by Detective Korsak and a mixed breed of medium size. The animal quivered silently, starring up at her with wide brown eyes.

"It's frightened," she stated, reminded of the way Jane had looked at her last night, with so much fear and despondency, could still feel the way she had wrapped herself around Maura with an unexpected strength. Her eyes were so dark as to appear almost black.

Then she had just left, offering some excuse about work. Her offer to drive Jane to her apartment immediately after her upsetting conversation with Dr. Tierney, the content of which she hadn't any idea, was refused. The proceeding hours were not at all productive, and worrying about Jane certainly didn't help.

Korsak petted the dog and scratched lightly behind its furry ears that had pricked up in attention, or apprehension, at Maura's approach. "I know. Poor thing, I found her behind the building just now, and couldn't leave her. Probably been abused by some bastard or other."

"Yet, you were able to approach her?"

"Oh sure," he spoke in even tones as he continued to pet and sooth, "you just gotta have the right attitude, and a lot of patience. A vet once told me I had a peaceful aura." Maura had no idea what that meant.

Frost appeared through the doorway, heading towards his desk with his morning coffee. "You and your aura are gonna be fired if the brass sees you with that in here."

Korsak chuckled, "Cavanaugh? He doesn't care. His wife adopted a rescue pet for their kids two years ago. I've got someone coming to pick her up soon, anyway. You deserve a nice home, don't you, girl?" He was now addressing the dog itself in a voice that Maura only ever heard grown men direct toward infants and particularly expensive convertibles.

Frost cut him off with the question that was foremost in Maura's mind. "Any news on Rizzoli?"

"Still haven't heard from her," Korsak sighed.

"Is it normal for Jane to come in late, or skip work without notifying anyone?" She hoped her voice didn't betray her confliction.

"Of course not," he was quick to defend his former partner, "In fact, I've got an idea. See you kids later."

* * *

><p>Jane sat in the back of the room, only half listening to the safety briefing. She was bored, but determined. A melted bag of ice lay next to her classroom desk on the floor, and there were three others strewn about in her car outside.<p>

She didn't go so far as to take a painkiller, she preferred being able to drive after all the trouble she went through to get back her keys from Frankie this morning, but she felt confident enough to take the test. Her hands hurt, but it was a stretching kind of ache, nothing she couldn't deal with.

Stifling a yawn, Jane let her mind wander. She had been naïve to think that she could ever be too tired to wake up in the middle of night, out of breath and drenched in sweat. However, interspersed with the usual nightmare, not to imply that she could ever get used to it, were dreams of a different sort featuring a certain blonde doctor that confused her more than anything.

Someone entered the room from behind her and took a vacant seat close by.

"How did you find me?" she whispered low without redirecting her gaze from the monotone instructor in the front of the room.

"Just a guess," Korsak responded in kind, "I figured you would want in on the op tomorrow, and the lieutenant isn't going to allow that until you're cleared for active duty."

"So they're planning it now?" Her excitement was obvious as she turned to face him.

If it were possible, his voice dropped lower. "Cavanaugh and Danny Clarke are going over Taylor's information. He's in lock-up, by the way, and a couple uniforms are staking out the site as we speak."

"What do you think?"

He drummed his fingers on the desktop of his chair. "It's a textbook perfect plan. Which is why it probably won't work."

"Really? You think you could do better?" She asked snarkily.

"I know we could, together."

Jane stiffened and didn't answer, turning back to the front, again only half listening. This wasn't how she imagined this conversation happening, but could no longer avoid it. Korsak deserved answers, and needed closure just as much as she did.

He rose with her after Jane and the other officers, most qualifying for the first time, were dismissed. They moved downrange to be given a static course of fire. Jane hated these things, regardless of the trophy in her living room. Law enforcement shouldn't design their firearms programs around qualifications, shooting for scores rather than survival.

The only stimulus received is a fire command, without any stressors other than an allotted time to get the rounds off. They were fortunate enough here to have a few reactionary targets, but still shot from a stationary two-handed, strong stride, supported position. This type of training produces adequate marksmen, but does little to prepare them for the dynamic, fluid, and life-threatening battles that officers face on the streets.

The echoing cracks of the first shots rang out, and Jane fidgeted, checking her clip before turning to Korsak, her attention divided. "Go on, ask."

"Why aren't we partners anymore, Jane?" Hearing it finally spoken aloud broke her heart.

She spotted small bits of dog hair that clung to his coat, and reached out to swipe them off jokingly. "Because I'm allergic to your tax write offs."

"You never sneezed," he pointed out, accusingly, not convinced in the slightest.

"Listen, that day…things are different now," she looked him straight in the face and couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth, that she still trusted him, but not herself.

Maybe someday she could tell him that, but for now, he needed her to be back to normal. Just like Cavanaugh needed her to be back at work, and just like her family needed her to act like it never happened.

She remembered Danny's words yesterday and internalized them. _I'm okay. Rather, I'll be okay. _

She didn't lie, giving him an honest if incomplete answer. "And I know that you're trying to make sergeant next year," she shrugged, "I thought it was time for a change."

"Jane I'm…sorry."

This Jane couldn't handle. She stepping forward, invading his personal space, all but nose to nose. Her voice was low and startling in its intensity. "Vince, you saved my life. I swear to God, don't you ever apologize to me. Ever."

Jane left him standing there and headed toward the range, focused only on the task at hand. The soft leather straps of her holster wrapped around her shoulders was familiar, the weight of the gun heavy under her arm.

_Trigger pull, five point five one pounds. Fifty rounds. I can do this._

* * *

><p>Maura scrolled through the application displayed on her monitor absently. It belonged to a recent graduate from Rhode Island looking for a job. She pitied the man, having to move to another state and take a second exam for board certification. She forwarded the email and attached resume to Dr. Tierney. He was technically still Chief ME, let him deal with it. The paperwork spread before her on the desk could wait as well, for that matter.<p>

She stretched, checking the time, and continued to mull over the events of the previous night as her anxiety built, wondering if she had inadvertently done something wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. She should have said something, asked questions, offered some kind of verbal reassurance to Jane.

Rising, she decided a quick trip upstairs for coffee was in order. With copious amounts of caffeine, perhaps she could focus on her work instead of her insecurity regarding interpersonal relationships.

The café was more crowded than she expected it to be during the early afternoon, and there were several faces she didn't recognize. Rumors trickled down to the basement would lead her to believe that these men were part of the taskforce that the Lieutenant was assembling for tomorrow's operation. It all seemed pseudo military and dangerous to Maura, and she worried for her friends.

"Hello there," a tall man, lean and dressed in plainclothes addressed her in the lobby. Even in jeans and a tight plain t-shirt, Maura could tell that he was an officer. It was in the way he carried himself as he approached her, with his thumbs in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. "This place is a real zoo, right? I'm Detective Bobby Marino."

"Dr. Maura Isles. Pleased to meet you," she offered a tentative smile.

"Ah, so you're the new M.E. everyone's talking about," he leaned a hip against the wall and smiled. She watched his eyes rove over her, feeling exposed everywhere they lingered. "Rumors don't do you justice, you know, to be the so-called 'Queen of the Dead."

"Excuse me?" she tilted her head, having never had the moniker hurled at her directly before. Was his discourtesy intentional? Maura couldn't tell. Before she could respond, Marino's attention was diverted to somewhere over her shoulder.

"Jeez Bobby, you sure know how to talk to a lady." Maura instantly recognized that dark, lowly rasping voice, even as it dripped sarcasm. "Don't let me hear you say that again." Jane sauntered up to join them holding two coffee cups from the café. Maura's eyes were drawn to the way her black holster contrasted against her crisp white shirt, wrapping around her shoulders and framing her long torso. She shivered, reminded of the situation at hand.

"Sorry," Marino shrugged, not particularly bothered. Turning to Jane, he crossed his arms and smirked, "Wow Rizzoli, last time I saw you, we were graduating from the academy in our dress blues. How's Korsak?"

Maura tuned out as they exchanged greetings and loosely veiled insults, as was common for whatever reason among these people, glad for Jane's presence beside her. She tried to gather in her mind everything she had read about police work and its potential dangers before coming to work at the precinct.

_On average, a law enforcement officer is killed in the line of duty every fifty-seven hours in America. _

She was drawn back into the conversation by Marino. "I remember a sparring match in defensive tactics class where one of us broke the other's nose. Guess who won that round, Doctor?" He winked at her.

"She doesn't guess," Jane answered quickly, quirking up an eyebrow, "And I seem to recall one of us getting locked to the stairway railing with his own handcuffs."

"Touché," he said, laughing.

"Danny's upstairs," she said with a smile, referring to his partner.

"Thanks, see you out there then." He left for the elevators. _Out there._ The words echoed around Maura, and she again considered the handgun under Jane's arm.

_Over thirty percent of LEO fatalities in the past year were the result of gunshot wounds. _

She looked up as one of the coffees was slipped into her hands, warming her fingers.

"Looked like you could use that," Jane said by way of explanation. "I was actually coming down to see you just now." Maura held her gaze as she took a sip. It was a latte exactly as she had ordered the previous morning. She shouldn't have been surprised by Jane's observation, but was charmed all the same.

"Did you really handcuff Det. Marino in a stairwell?" she asked as they exited the lobby to escape the crowd. Jane took them down the stairs to the right, ducking around her to put Maura on the inside of the sidewalk.

"Yeah, his best friend, Danny, got him out of there a few hours later," she shrugged, "They've worked together ever since they both made detective in the drug unit."

Maura's heels clicked on the cement, and Jane unconsciously fell into step beside her.

_Seven percent of officers killed in the last ten years were in arrest situations involving drug related matters. _

They stopped at the end of the block and Jane moved to lean against the brick wall with stucco accents that made up the front of the building. Jane nervously fidgeted with the badge on her belt. She seemed uncertain as she looked up, considering her for a long moment with dark eyes.

"Do you ever get lonely, Maura?" A seemingly random question.

"Sure. I've only just recently moved back to Boston," she didn't add that she had left for San Francisco in the first place only shortly after she had called off her engagement to Garrett Fairfield. The result was a substantial lost of a wider social network. Maura couldn't say she was especially upset to have left that circle. She didn't make great impressions with the upper classes of the East coast. "I find that it's a subjective experience."

"You're also taking a city office position in a few weeks," At her nod, Jane seemed to have reached some internal decision because she pushed away from the wall and stepped close, "Listen, if you ever need anything, anything at all, I'm your girl." Maura quite liked the sound of that.

She flashed her a brilliant smile that she couldn't contain. "Really?"

Jane stood with a hand on one hip, wearing a smirk with which Maura was quickly becoming familiar, "Yeah, I can fix a clogged sink, I aced protective detail, and I know all the best family-owned Italian restaurants in the city." They shared a laugh.

"That is, you know, if you wanted to do something outside of a crime scene. Together. I just want to thank you, for last night, and um…I mean I really-" she stumbled over her words, running a hand through her hair.

"I'd like that," Maura interrupted her gently. She was rewarded with a bashful smile.

They parted at the elevators, waiting on opposite ends of the hallway to be taken to their respective floors. It was still crowded in the interim between meetings, and Maura felt all her anxiety rushing back as she took in the flurry of motion.

Jane watched Maura curiously as the elevator arrived. She looked awfully troubled, standing there watching everyone rush around, unused to the tension surrounding her. Jane hadn't worked many high scale operations before, the homicide unit worked a little differently, but she recognized the energy of anticipation before something big. She attributed a lot of the fuss to the fact that everything was being thrown together at the last minute, so to speak, literally the day before.

She turned around as the sliding doors began to close on Jane. Her brow creased, and Jane barely had time to react before Maura was moving, darting into the lift. Managing to keep them from crashing into the wall, she was aware of Maura's arms slipping around her waist, the impact pressing them flush together as they were carried up to the second floor.

"Be careful," there was no mistaking the command, however softly given close to her ear. Touched, she reached out to the button panel, keeping the doors shut, and rested her cheek against Maura's.

"I'll be okay."

* * *

><p>Hello again. This chapter contains less plot than the previous few, but we're quickly approaching endgame. Just a few notes – the trophy is an actual set piece, Maura's voice, even in third person, is difficult, and I have thoroughly enjoyed doing research for this story. I knew nothing about any of it outside of tv drama before.<p>

The coming weeks are exams for me, so it might be a while between uploads, but I still intend to meet my self-imposed deadline. So, no worries. In other news, I'm a junior marshal for the history dept. (explains why I'm not a writer) at the university I attend if that means anything to anybody. Kind of made my day.

Many thanks again to my few faithful readers and for all the reviews, PMs, and favorites. Any and all feedback/suggestions are so wonderful! Cheers, -Picc.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Evening descended quietly, lengthening the shadows and deep corners of the side streets and alleyways, darkness growing from the inside out as the sun set slowly over the skyline. Five o'clock traffic had long since calmed, and the city hovered between the departure of the working class and the stirring of midweek nightlife.

Maura reflected on the stillness as she pulled her leather coat closed against the chill breeze tunneling down through the main road from around the skyscrapers to the north. She stood in front of the precinct, the only place not suspended between night and day. The concentration of people inside only grew over the course of the afternoon, tension and tempers running high.

The blue doors opened behind her, and raised voices filtered into the street before being abruptly cut off when the door slipped shut.

"Excuse me? Maybe you can help me." She turned around, surprised to be addressed by a blonde woman close to Maura in age, dressed casually, with pale, worried blue eyes.

"I should hope not," Maura said, adjusting the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

"What?" The woman's expression was blank as she approached.

"Sorry," apparently attempted humor was not at all appropriate or effective in this instance, "I'm Dr. Maura Isles. I'm a medical examiner." She summoned a polite smile and offered her hand.

"Oh, right" she nodded, accepting the gesture absently. "Melanie Taylor, pleased to meet you. I haven't been able to reach my husband, and security won't let me through. When I asked to speak to the Lieutenant, I was told he was unavailable and they asked me to leave. Can you tell me what's going on?"

Maura hesitated, not sure what she was authorized to disclose. "Former Det. Taylor, as I understand, is being held for further questioning. I can tell you that he is cooperating with the taskforce, and has provided valuable information concerning a homicide case."

"Homicide?" Mrs. Taylor nearly laughed in disbelief, "My husband worked in the drug unit." She ran her hands over her face. "I can't believe he's doing this again. And I can't believe I didn't see it happening."

Maura was struggling to decipher the clash of emotions as they passed over the other woman's face. Concern, hurt, anger, disappointment. In Taylor or herself? "You're referring to your husband's probation for vigilantism?"

She faced Maura, sighing heavily. "You'll understand once you're around them long enough. Police officers live each day fully prepared to lay down their lives for any given stranger at any given moment. There is no such thing as a former cop. It's not a job. It's a lifestyle."

"It must be hard for you," Maura said quietly, tripping over the thought of Jane or Korsak or Frost making that ultimate commitment.

"It's a part of who they are, and I love him," she said it like a curse and a mantra all wrapped into one. "So much. There were so many times I wished I could ask questions. I wished he could tell me where he was going and what it was for, but he couldn't tell anyone anything until the situation was over. I got so sick of being told to just wait."

Maura thought of the operation tomorrow. Her lungs burned and her heart beat fast when she imagined Jane walking into the middle of the conflict, eyes dark as she faces down Lauren's killers with weapon drawn.

"How do you cope?"

"You find a way to tune out those 'breaking news' alerts when they're on duty. Whereas in the beginning I would instantly call his cell to make sure he's alright, over time I learned that he won't answer if he's in the middle of something and calling only to get no answer will just leave you worried that he's hurt or in trouble," she paused, chewing her lower lip and looking away, her gaze distant.

"I thought it was over, these past four years were so…normal. And now we have Emma. He was home all the time and we could be together as a family. But he wasn't happy living off a dead end job until this time next year when he could go back to work. I knew that."

She didn't add anything about working for an organized drug ring catering to university students out of some misguided drive of justice. "And he never considered doing anything else? He always wanted to be a detective?"

"There is a reason police choose a profession with low pay, horrible hours, immense stress, non-existent holidays and a huge potential for danger. It is because they are called to duty. They are compelled by a desire to help those in need, to make a difference, to protect and serve.

Becoming a detective is no different, just capitalizing on another skill set." Maura still couldn't tell if Mrs. Taylor was bitter or proud of her husband's profession. "One may think you would get a little more money in the bank by walking around with a bull's eye on your back for a living."

A shiver coursed through her having little to do with the oncoming night. Standing on the sidewalk just down the stone steps outside the entrance to the precinct, she found herself staring, unfocused on the cracks at her feet. Here was a woman who knew the culture Maura was surrounded by every day, and described the fierce purpose she sensed in Jane the others perfectly. She decided to sate her curiosity while the young mother was willing to talk.

She surprised herself with her next question. "What is it like, being romantically involved with a law enforcement officer?"

Mrs. Taylor shot her a glance, almost a warning, as if to say 'don't'. Instead, she spoke frankly, "I'm sure it's different for everybody. But it's never normal. For example, before he became a detective, my husband used to work a beat in a seedy part of downtown.

Ever since then, trips to crowded locations became a game of 'I spy a felon'. When he suddenly announces 'don't turn around' or 'we need to get out of this aisle now' or 'wait, wait, wait...ok go, go, go,' my instincts may be to want to know who we are avoiding and what the story is behind it, but I learned quickly to follow instructions and ask when we got to the car.

Then there's the 'walk away' lesson. If I'm ever with Richard in public and told to 'take Emma and go' or 'walk the other way now', I do it. Don't look at me like that, this is not a control issue. There is a very big difference between him ordering me around and recognizing a situation in which he needs to protect me from those that recognize and hate him, and those he does not ever want to recognize me as his wife when he is not there. I'll be honest with you, it can be scary."

Maura thought of Korsak who even at his age was unmarried, several marriages forfeited to the job. Did Jane have enemies that would use those close to her towards some sort of revenge plot? _Of course she did._ All the headlines from two months ago flooded through her mind and she remembered running her own fingers over the healing wounds in Jane's palms.

"Is it worth it?" For a moment, she thought Melanie wouldn't answer.

"Absolutely." She hailed a taxi and waited for it to pull to the curb, giving Maura a knowing smile.

"If you ever need advice, my phone number's in the system. Good luck, Doctor."

* * *

><p>"What the hell do you mean, I'm off the case?" Jane's voice dropped an octave, rasping dangerously. Cavanaugh was unaffected.<p>

"I mean that you're off the case," he calmly slid a paperclip over her firearm proficiency exam results, "I'll get these processed and you'll be cleared by Monday morning at the latest."

"You could do it today. I'll do it myself if I have to." She was beyond furious, standing behind a chair in front of the lieutenant's desk, gripping the back until her knuckles turned white in an effort to keep from hitting something. Or someone.

"No, you won't. You've done more than enough this week," if he was anything more than mildly irritated, he didn't show it, never raising his voice, "I told you to stay out of trouble, Rizzoli. After the past few months, this team needs you back in action, but I also need you to have some damn common sense."

Jane let go of the chair and paced. She knew that jumping out of a burning building would come back to bite her. It figured that he would let her return from medical leave early for 'group morale', but then kick her out of the loop at the first sign of real danger.

"Sir, I don't think it's good politics to yank me when things start to go sideways."

"And I don't think you understand. Now, this may come as something of a surprise to you, Jane, but this isn't, nor ever was, _your_ case. It's Frost and Korsak's. You'll respect that, and you'll respect my decision."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Let the taskforce handle it. That's an order." With that, he tossed the paperwork onto the desk, and picked up his phone. Clearly dismissed, Jane stormed out to the bullpen.

* * *

><p>More filler before the conclusion. This chapter has not been edited, so if anything is unclear, review or PM me and I'll rewrite it sometime after exams. Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this first effort at fanfiction. You guys are just awesome : ) Cheers,<p>

Picc.


	10. Chapter 10 part 1

Welcome to the penultimate chapter of RAM. Enjoy.

Chapter 10

Part 1

It rained the morning of the drug bust. A chill, pelting barrage from threatening, dark cloud cover arrived on northwest winds, replacing predawn shadow with a dim, foggy morning, and continued throughout the day.

Jane could hear the wind whipping against a loose window, the rattling noise grating on her nerves as she set her coffee on the desk and took her seat. The bullpen was unusually quiet, except for raised voices coming from behind the closed door to the lieutenant's office.

Looking over her computer monitor, she nodded a greeting to Frost, who silently returned it, looking tired and restless at the same time, mirroring every face she had encountered since passing through the metal detectors downstairs. The taskforce had obviously been busy last night in the final fine-tuning of their preparations.

She wouldn't feel guilty, she decided as she considered the haggard appearances and nervous energy radiating from her colleagues. However unwillingly, she at least got a full night's sleep out of the slight against her. Cavanaugh stormed out of his office without glancing her way.

Angry maybe, but not guilty.

Jane stole a blank sheet of paper from the printer and fished a ballpoint pen out a drawer. Stubbornly ignoring the motion around her, she sat cross-legged in the chair and began her letter. A shadow moved over the page as someone passed behind her.

"Why is it that you only write to Tommy when you're pissed off?" Korsak was trying to unsuccessfully secure his blue tie, having returned from changing into the spare shirt she knew he kept in his bottom desk drawer for working long hours. Jane rolled her eyes at him.

"Who's Tommy?" Frost piped up.

"My youngest brother," she muttered, continuing in her neatest handwriting, briefly relating the events of her first few days back at work, including getting into a fistfight with a former detective, and being summarily thrown off the case. It would make him laugh.

The silence between them grew, but Jane wouldn't acknowledge it as uncomfortable. She hesitated when her thoughts drifted and she debated whether to write about Maura or not. She had already mentioned Frost…

Leaning back, Jane bit down on the cap of her pen, her mind wandering. It was interesting and odd that her relationships with each of the two newest members to BPD, Frost and Dr. Isles, had progressed so quickly, albeit to completely different ends. Maybe it was because they were new, hadn't suffered through the weeks of chasing down Hoyt, and therefore couldn't compare the Jane Rizzoli of before to the shell of a woman still recovering from that ordeal now.

Frost was young, a rookie, but he was quick and intelligent, possessing a quiet charm that offset her impatience. They complimented each other and worked well together. Maura and Jane were... Jane didn't know what to call it, not strictly professional, but they barely knew each other. Yet, when she considered the way Maura had approached her in the hallway outside her office at the city morgue, how her eyes caught the light and bore into her own, Jane was sure that there was a connection to be explored, a burgeoning friendship hinting at some deeper familiarity.

As if Jane's musings had summoned her, Maura entered through the glass doors, gliding across the room like a model struts down a Parisian runway. A long, fitted khaki trench coat with detailed stitching protected her from the downpour, and her wealth of blonde hair was pulled back. Jane didn't notice Korsak and Frost rise to join Detective Clarke in the hallway until she was addressed directly.

"Listen, I'm sorry you have to sit this one out, Jane." Korsak looked more relieved than sorry, she realized, and couldn't really blame him for it. She held his gaze until he turned to leave.

Frost approached in his wake, uncertain. Jane could see his throat move as he swallowed compulsively to gather his nerves. "For what it's worth, I'd feel a lot better if you were there. Any advice?"

She smiled grimly, "You're going to be fine. Just let SWAT do their job, and hopefully all you'll have to worry about are the details.

"But," her voice dropped an octave, "do you know that feeling you get sometimes like the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, warning you of danger? Listen to it. I don't care what you call it, whether you believe in God or not, listen to that feeling. It's saved my life many times and it will save yours." He nodded, and joined Korsak. Danny waved from the other side of the glass doors, and from over his shoulder, Bobby Moreno gave her a mock salute.

"Allow me," Maura said softly, stopping to straighten Korsak's tie as she passed.

Jane turned back to her letter as they left, reading over the page without really comprehending anything. Heaving a sigh, she crumpled the paper in her fist and tossed it into the trash bin. Maura approached from her left.

"Jane?" The uncertainty in her voice worked to dispel Jane's anger, and she swiveled around to face the doctor. "Are you okay?"

"Not really." Her voice low in the near silence of the room, "I'm off the case," she said, watching Maura's fingers work loose the tied belt of her coat that wrapped around her waist. She shrugged out of it and took a chair near Jane.

"I'm sure that there's a valid reason for Cavanaugh's decision."

"Yeah, because he couldn't trust me in a potentially dangerous situation," she sighed, reaching for her coffee, letting the warmth seep through the thin barrier of styrofoam and into her hands.

The relief in Korsak's expression shouldn't have surprised her. It was, after all, the reason why she had asked for a different partner. Knowing that didn't make it hurt any less. "I just… feel like I'm back to square one, even though these people have known me for years." She took a sip, listened for the rain against the roof of the building.

"You know, I half contemplated leaving. I have a request for reassignment saved, attached to an email to Cavanaugh, just sitting there waiting for me to hit send. I thought that if I were sent to a different station, with a new team, maybe it would be better."

Maura struggled between her curiosity and alarm. _Would Jane leave the city?_ Over the course of her short time with the department, Maura had only just begun to understand the context of how people interacted here, because of Jane.

She had first noticed the effect on Frost's first day, when it was announced that Det. Rizzoli would be returning to Boston Homicide. Korsak and the other detectives, especially the ones directly involved with the Surgeon case, exhibited signs of psychological trauma, and Jane had become the focal point of their recovery. Maura learned to recognize the subtle tension and relief that surrounded the whole issue. A particularly gruesome case to begin with, an attack on a fellow officer made it all the more personal, not just to her partner, but seemingly the entire Boston police force. Whether she knew it or not, Jane had become a kind of temporary keystone for the group. If she left, what then?

"You didn't," she meant it as a question, tentatively meeting Jane's eyes. Her emotional reaction was much simpler. She didn't want Jane to leave.

"I decided that was a bad idea the night before I came back to work. The headlines follow me around, and without experiencing it themselves, without knowing the context of…_that_ day, I would be fighting the same uphill battle for respect, but they would never be able to trust me. I wouldn't blame them."

Maura crossed her ankles and leaned towards Jane. Her eyes were bright, flashing with a fierce intelligence that Jane found increasingly less intimidating as she spent more time with her, but no less fascinating.

"I don't think your peers see you as anything less since the Surgeon. When I arrived here some weeks ago, my perception of you was only what I had gathered by following the news. Spending time with the detectives here completely changed that image. They hold you in high esteem, even though dealing with the reality of the Surgeon's attack terrifies them."

Jane was still for a moment, lost in thought. Maura wondered what about, but by the darkness in the other woman's expression, it was probably for the best that she didn't know. Jane reached out her hand for Maura, who slipped her own into it.

She touched her lower lip with the tip of her tongue to wet it. Usually Maura would have a problem with physical contact. She had established strict personal space early in life and avoided touch she didn't anticipate, such as when on a date, usually tensing and pulling away. But with Jane, she discovered a latent affect hunger in herself playing out in their interactions that surprised her, and Jane seemed generous with casual contact. Except when concerning her hands, she had noticed when Frost introduced himself to Jane at the crime scene, and her own first meeting with Jane. Maura had never considered her aversion a problem before moving back to Boston, but now, isolated from the social structures she was familiar with, thought that perhaps she needed some kind of comfort as much as Jane did.

"I wish we could have met before Hoyt, that you could have known me then," Jane smoothed her thumb over Maura's wrist.

"I'm honored to know you now. Let yourself and the rest of your team recover…" she cradled Jane's hand in both of hers and turned it over, bowing her head to press her lips against the palm in a soft kiss, just shy of the raised scar in the center.

"…and heal."

* * *

><p>A case file came across Maura's desk later that morning that she was to pass on without giving her authorization, without necessarily knowing what it was, or having ever opened it. There was a court date posted on the label. She should have just sent it, shouldn't have opened it out of curiosity or read any further than the first line of Dr. Tierney's opening statements.<p>

The photographs disturbed her the most. The news media two months ago had not done Charles Hoyt justice, had not demonized him enough for the sadistic, vicious hatred for women evidenced in the autopsy reports. She was heartbroken, horrified, and caught in a burning fury that brought tears to her eyes. No one deserved this, even given the nature of her profession. It was no longer possible for her to pass this particular case on to one of her employees.

It was with a new perspective and a heavy heart that Maura returned to the bullpen around noon. She had thought she could understand the complexities of the homicide unit's inner conflict over this one man. She had been so wrong.

Jane wasn't at her desk when Maura entered. They were meeting for lunch. She imagined Jane was anxious about the operation and anything to occupy her time would be welcomed.

A door was partially open across from the lieutenant's office. Maura recognized one of the voices from within and moved toward it. A shiver coursed through her in response to the sound, such that she was beginning to seriously question her skepticism regarding the under researched trend, autonomous sensory meridian response.

The room was filled with video and radio surveillance technology, currently occupied by one coordinating officer with which Jane was speaking, or arguing rather. Apparently, she wasn't allowed to be here. The monitors were focused on a series of loading docks where several transfer trucks had pulled into. The supply dump had begun.

Jane's was an intense presence in the small room. She stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips, suddenly looking every bit the reckless, headstrong cop her reputation projected. High emotion and stress rolled off her in waves as she watched the men unloading the cargo, great bulky crates, unaware that at any moment police would descend upon the building. The crackle and static of radios filled the space, accompanying the rain.

A phone rang in the main room behind Maura where she stood in the doorway, adding to the cacophony of sound. Jane turned and slipped by her to answer it, gesturing for Maura to follow. She rounded her desk and jabbed the speakerphone button.

"Rizzoli."

"This is officer Jencson, Property Clerk's office, requesting to speak with Lieutenant Cavanaugh."

"He's not in. Is there a problem?"

"One minute and twelve seconds ago, we received a call on a cell phone confiscated from a Richard Taylor currently being held in lock-up. The caller made several threats against police presence in the area. He also claimed to have a hostage."

"Do you have a number from the phone?"

"Yes," he dictated a string of numbers to Jane, who scrambled for a pen to write them down.

Maura felt ill as she watched the digits form a familiar sequence she had looked up herself only hours ago. "That's Melanie Taylor's phone number."

_I'll be honest with you, it can be scary._

_Is it worth it? _

_Absolutely. If you ever need advice… _

If what the property clerk said was true, it was probably not long after their conversation outside the station that she had been taken by some manner of thugs from the drug ring.

Jane cursed and picked up the phone, issuing a barrage of questions to the other officer. They knew about Taylor. The whole operation had hinged on shock value and surprise. _Damn_. Unless someone secured the situation before the entire mission was blown…

"Can you trace it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Send me the address as soon as you have it." She was halfway down the stairwell before Maura caught on. "Jane!" The click of her heels echoed off the cement as she followed.

Jane's phone chirped from her pocket. It was a message from Jencson with the address where Mrs. Taylor was being held. _Shit, that's halfway across the city from the taskforce._

"They're going to kill her, Maura. They're going to use her as leverage to stop the raid, and then either way, kill her, unless someone does something about it." Exploding into the parking garage, she broke into a jog, fishing out her car keys and quickly shedding her jacket. The rain sluiced off the upper decks, roaring around them.

Maura caught up as Jane opened the trunk, watched helplessly as she attached a holster to her belt. She felt as if she were on the verge of an anxiety attack. Jane pulled out a Kevlar vest.

She was torn between confusion and anger. All she could think of were the photos of Hoyt's victims, currently locked in her office in the morgue. Jane had faced that monster knowing what he was capable of, and Maura had had no idea until now what that really meant.

_Police officers live each day fully prepared to lay down their lives for any given stranger at any given moment. _

"Why would you go alone?" Maura's voice broke and was almost drowned out by the torrent of rainwater and wind. "Why did you go alone that night?"

Jane was caught off guard in the middle of slamming the trunk lid. She turned to find Maura, beautifully tearful, close behind her, hugging herself against the wind that pried at loose strands of her hair.

"Because every second they waste deliberating, could be the moment an innocent person dies. That didn't happen to Catherine Cordell, and I'm sure as hell not going to let it happen to Melanie Taylor."

_It's not a job. It's a lifestyle._

Jane grasped her shoulders. In the shadowed garage, her dark eyes appeared almost black.

"Listen," her voice rasped an octave lower. When Maura didn't look at her, she leaned forward to rest their foreheads together, "I need you to trust me."

* * *

><p>Thoughts? Suggestions for Part 2? Things may have been slow since Ch 7, but I felt that the conversations were important. The action kicks up next chapter.<p>

Cheers, -Picc


	11. Chapter 10 part 2

Chapter 10

Part 2

The car sloshed through the street, water spraying from the back tires as Jane raced toward her destination, picking up speed. It was dark for mid-afternoon, the sky covered in steadily darkening grey as the storm continued to roll over the city. The light-sensitive photocells of the streetlights struggled with the transition so early in the day, causing them to blink on and off again by turns.

Jane's mind raced along with the drive, already doubting the wisdom of her plan, which wasn't really a plan at all, but a snap decision to act. Hostage situations were not normally in the scope of her work, and on the two occasions she had been involved, there had been no limitations on resources or people to bring everyone out alive. Everything from snipers, negotiators, medical personnel, to bomb experts were called in, in addition to a flood of gunmen and SWAT agents with full body armor and ballistic shields. Jane's objective was the same, but without even a perimeter guard, and no possibility for dynamic entry.

Ideally, the police would cover every entry point, and simultaneous attacks would overwhelm the target's ability to react. Alone, Jane would no doubt be hopelessly outnumbered, having to rely on every close quarters tactics lesson she knew, as well as the stealth training acquired from years of personal experience tracking down the most depraved of Boston's citizens. It was six kinds of stupid, and Jane knew it. It also smacked glaringly of _that _day two months ago.

_What the hell am I doing here?_

She couldn't help but feel some resentment towards former Det. Taylor. She thought of Mrs. Taylor, possibly injured, bound, and scared out of her mind. She now knew what that felt like, to be completely helpless, without hope. Her stomach churned in remembered terror and her hands ached. The image of Dr. Cordell flashed across her memory, slit open and slowly bleeding to death, too drugged to move, but not enough to dull the pain.

Now, just like then, time was of the essence, and there was no guarantee that she wasn't already too late.

Jane had her answer. It was in her childhood home, where her mother didn't have to worry about gangs and murderers, but instead nagged her about grandchildren. Or her brother's easy smile and silly admiration. It was in Maura's striking intelligence and equally breathtaking beauty.

There was really no choice at all.

However, she desperately needed backup. Pulling out her phone, she punched the speed dial for Korsak out of sheer habit before realizing just what she was doing. Her thumb hovered over 'send,' for an agonizing minute as she hurtled down a side street, before clearing the number and dialing a different one. They answered on the second ring.

"Frost, are you anywhere near Korsak?"

"No. I'm on a coffee run if you can believe it," incredulity was readily apparent in his tone, "Price of being new, I guess. They've been watching the trucks roll in and unload for hours. Won't be long now."

"Okay, call Danny Clarke and tell him that Melanie Taylor has been kidnapped."

"What?" He half shouted into her ear.

"It's being handled. Tell him not to negotiate, and to go through with the raid. Then meet me at this address," Jane steadied the steering wheel when she started to hydroplane across the wet pavement, tried to calm down, and eased her foot off the gas pedal. Only slightly.

"She's being held in a rundown, split-level house in Dorchester just off the interstate."

Frost caught on quickly. "Another meeting place close to Harbor Point and the university. Damn."

"They won't even notice that you left," she sped through a residential area, trying to avoid the heavy traffic of main thoroughfares, "And…I could really use a partner on this."

"I can be there in fifteen minutes," Frost paused and Jane could hear a burst of radio static on the other end of the connection, "SWAT's moving out in ten."

She pressed the pedal to the floor.

* * *

><p>The initial six hours, as near as Melanie could figure, were spent in a drug induced haze of confused half-remembered hallucinations and nightmarish memories, assuming that there was a difference. Her first lucid memory was of the water stained ceiling that hung over her, before the round face of a strange man swallowed her entire field of vision, shadowed in the dim light of a single shade-less lamp. His nose had been broken at some point in his past, the angle slightly crooked. It hadn't taken her long to piece together what had happened.<p>

She tried to scream, only to be made painfully aware that she was gagged, her throat completely dry and sore. They had laid her out on the bare mattress of a twin size bed with metal rails serving as a headboard, to which her wrists were tied above her head. Her arms had long since lost feeling. A dull throb spread from a knot on the back of her head. Her whole body ached, but as far as she could tell nothing was broken, and she hadn't been raped.

The bed was at the bottom of an open, straight flight of stairs leading to a second level, so that she could be seen directly by the men pacing upstairs, but without being in the way, nor could she hear what was being said. She faced the stairs with her back to a wall behind her, and couldn't see by the weak light filtering down from the main level enough to make out her surroundings on either side.

Time dragged on, and she fought to keep the fear rising in her chest at bay as the fog of the previous night lifted, and her head cleared. She tested her restraints, only to cause herself further pain and earn an unwanted visit from one of her captors.

She slept some, or was knocked out again. She didn't know. When she woke, the men upstairs were quiet. She could faintly hear the noise of a television.

There was motion in the periphery she could just make out from the corner of her eye in the darkness. To her right, a figure crept slowly, keeping to the deepest shadows. Melanie felt like her heart was trying to batter its way outside of her. She curled into herself, becoming as small as possible to shrink away from this new threat.

Maybe she was dreaming again, caught in drugged hallucination. The specter stopped and became very still, so motionless that Melanie had to strain to make out the outline. She had the impression that they were listening intently.

"Mrs. Taylor," a low voice addressed her in a rough whisper, "It's going to be okay. I'm going to get you out of here." The owner of the voice edged closer to the bottom stair so that the light from upstairs revealed her face only for a moment, and then slid back into the darkness. Even soaking wet as she was, all it took was one glance to recognize Detective Rizzoli. She wondered how she had gotten in undetected, to be so drenched from the rain.

"Melanie," Rizzoli said quietly, "where's Emma? Is she here? Nod your head yes or no."

Emma. Oh god. Her breath quickened and her vision grew dark around the edges. She felt the twitching pain of muscle spasms around her heart and knew that she was on the verge of panic. It took several moments for her to gather the events of the previous day in her disjointed mind. Emma. She felt tears of relief spill down her cheeks to the cloth of the gag when she finally remembered that her daughter was spending the weekend with her grandmother. She shook her head.

"Okay," Jane breathed a sigh of relief also, "just lay back and look scared. I'll take care of the rest." The confidence in her softly rasping voice was comforting.

She moved into the light, something flashed in her hand. Jane stood over the bed, drops of water from her rain-wet hair falling onto Melanie's face and neck.

Melanie had no idea as to what was happening until she saw Jane lay her own arm down at her side. The rush of blood back into the limb was severe, but the gag muffled any outburst. Jane cut the other loose with what appeared to be a small pocketknife, starting the process over again. Eyes darting quickly to the stairs, Jane signaled for silence before she gently removed the gag, and Melanie fought with herself not to make any noise by coughing. They both jumped at the creak of a loose floorboard above their heads.

Suddenly, Jane was gone, leaving Melanie, dazed and terrified, to follow the sound of footsteps, her heart in her throat, until the man with the broken nose came into view. The room spun as she watched him descend the stairs, and she began to wonder if in her confusion she had imagined a rescue.

"What the hell?" Before she could react, he had caught her free wrists and jerked her upright. She tensed, anticipating a strike. Where was the detective?

Her captor gave a grunt of surprise as his feet were kicked out from under him and he fell to the floor with a thud, releasing Melanie as he went down. Jane was under the bed, she realized. The barely audible sounds of a struggle reached her from below. Melanie rolled into her own ungraceful fall from the bed and scrambled into the darkest recesses of the open first floor, backing herself into a corner and cradling her head as her stomach heaved. Her ears filled with the sound of her own heart racing, and she lost her tenuous grip on consciousness completely.

* * *

><p>The brute thrashed against her, and Jane tightened her hold around his neck, putting pressure on his windpipe. Eventually his body relaxed, unconscious. Jane kicked the limp form away so that she could crawl out from under the bed and jumped to her feet. <em>One down.<em>

With some effort, she dragged the unconscious thug out of the dim light that pooled at the bottom of the stairs. She shook with adrenaline, every muscle trembling in equal parts excitement and fear. Crouched in the dark, placing herself between Melanie and the stairs, she waited for her next opponent with a hand hovering over the unclipped holster at her hip.

Frost was still roughly five minutes away when she had arrived, but she couldn't afford to wait for him. The drug bust and ensuing onslaught of arrests was already underway. Once word reached Melanie's kidnappers, they would kill her and run.

Jane brushed her hair back to keep water from running into her eyes. An angry eruption of voices came from the second floor, and a smirk spread across her face as she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. Someone from across town had made contact. _How does it feel to completely fail, boys? _

"Waste her." A deep voice commanded. Jane followed the sound of at least six men rushing through the building, readying their escape. For Jane, running was not an option, as Melanie was unconscious. She debated with herself whether to announce her presence by shooting the next person who came down and hope that Frost wasn't too far behind, or if she could take one more quietly by surprise.

A pair of mud-splattered shoes came into view in the rail-less gap between the stairs and the ceiling. Jane tensed and silently moved closer.

"Switch?" he called down, presumably to his comrade currently out cold at Jane's feet, stepping down two more steps. Jane tensed. When he was eyelevel with the ceiling, she rushed forward, reaching through the gap to grab the front of his shirt and yanking back, smashing his head against the molding and sending him tumbling down the remaining stairs. _So much for staying quiet._

"What's going on?"

"There's someone down there."

"Go."

Jane drew her handgun, the grip cold in her hands, dropping to one knee with her back to the panel hiding the space under the stairs.

Another thundered down and stepped over the fallen man at the bottom of the flight. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck. Jane's pulse leapt at the sound of Melanie shifting in the dark. As he turned to the sound, she stepped forward, pressing the barrel against the Chinese lettering.

"Boston police. Put your hands-" before she could finish, the arm of a second assailant wrapped around her from behind, trying to pry her fingers from her weapon. The man with the Chinese tattoo whipped around and threw a punch she couldn't dodge. She kicked out against him while trying to keep her gun. All thought fled from Jane, at the worst height of terror in which she was reduced to simply reacting, no longer in control.

Planting both feet on his chest, she pushed off and forced the man holding her to step backwards on the stair, causing them both to fall. Jane used the momentum to slam her elbow just below his sternum. As air left his lungs, his grip loosened enough for her to roll away. The man with the tattoo had already gained his feet from Jane's kick and was ready when she righted herself, grabbing her collar and lifting her off her feet.

Jane put a round through his chest. She never cared for the brute strength approach. He howled, crashing back into the wall, and his blood marked a path as he slid down it to the floor. Painful, but not fatal, as she had missed vital organs, arteries, and the spine.

A shadow rose over him, cast by the other man standing on the stairs, having caught his breath. Jane felt the fine hair on the back of her neck rise, and turned.

The crack of a shot rang in her ears, and Jane fell across the bed, pain blossomed in her shoulder. Her attacker was dead, a gaping hole in the center of his once white t-shirt. The bullet lodged in the weave of her Kevlar vest.

From the second floor, starring at her down the barrel of a Glock 22 was Bobby Marino.

Jane didn't move, her breath coming in pants between clenched teeth. Surely he recognized her, even in the shadows, but he didn't put down his weapon. Their eyes locked, and she could almost see the debate raging inside.

She became aware of the sounds of someone moving through the house behind him, of Melanie crying in the dark, and over everything, the constant din of the rain.

"Jane?" Frost rounded the corner, giving Marino a questioning look and starting down the stairs. "It's all over. I've got three dirtbags cuffed upstairs and a couple squad cars on their way." Reaching Jane, he offered a hand to help her up.

"Two alive. One injured. One dead." She managed between breaths. The adrenaline rush was fading fast, and Jane felt more than a little unsteady on her feet. Marino was no longer at the top of the stairs. "Call an ambulance."

"Right." When he was sure she wouldn't fall without support, Frost strode calmly over to Melanie and scooped her up into his arms. She didn't call out or fight, just wept softly into his shoulder, too sick to distinguish reality from nightmare.

Gathering her nerves, Jane exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, felt cold rainwater running off her in drops and small rivulets, sliding down her back. The chill reminded her that she was alive. It was something familiar. The affirmation of life bounced around in her mind until she believed it, holstering her weapon. Despite everyone's doubts, including her own, the mission was a success and Melanie Taylor was alive. Jane didn't know if she was closer to laughter or tears, but knew that somehow, she had overcome the odds today, and proven to herself that she could still do this job.

"So, what made you decide to call in Marino?" Frost asked, starting for the stairs. Jane thought her heart might have stopped.

"You mean you didn't?" She considered the spot Marino had stood, the angle of his shot that had passed through one man and continued, stopped by the vest she wore. From such a short distance, she was lucky that the impact had not broken her collarbone.

Why was he here, and who was his target? The dead man? Or Jane?

* * *

><p>Maura supervised the removal of the body. Moving alongside the gurney, wheeled by two of her assistants out into the rain, she left the forensics team to their photographs and evidence bags.<p>

She had followed behind two ambulances to the scene, desperately hoping that neither was purposed for Jane. Now, only one lingered in the driveway. Melanie Taylor, suffering from a massive overdose, lay in the back, letting the EMTs prep her for the drive to Boston General. The E.R. personnel there would pump her stomach to eliminate the remnants of the drugs coursing through her system. A thoroughly distasteful procedure, Maura knew.

She passed Det. Marino in the middle of giving his statement to another investigator. He looked her over as he spoke, his eyes bright and predatory in the headlights of the squad cars. She tried to maintain a normal walking speed and straight posture, continuing at the side of the dead body Marino himself had shot. He scared her, but he had also saved Jane's life.

With her charge loaded and en route for the morgue, Maura made her way to the ambulance, looking for Jane, wanting to make sure for herself that the detective was uninjured.

"I personally called your mother and filled her in. She and Emma will be waiting for you at the hospital. It's okay to sleep now," Jane soothed, "I'll be by in a day or so to take a statement." From the ground outside the vehicle, Maura watched Melanie's pale blue eyes focus on Jane, who held her hand while an EMT injected a sedative into her IV. Jane took notice of her then, and a small smile touched her lips.

"You should let one of us take a look at you, Detective." said a paramedic. Jane considered that her cue to jump out of the ambulance.

"Thanks, but no thanks," she sauntered over to Maura's side, ducking under the black umbrella with her. Jane had shed her heavy vest and soaked shirt, leaving her in a grey tank top. The thin straps did nothing to hide the dark purple contusion spreading across her upper chest and shoulder, centering just below the left clavicle.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Maura reached out to trace the shape of the bone lightly with her fingertips, suddenly blinking away tears.

Melanie watched the exchange silently as the EMTs worked around her. Everything was fuzzy, her breath slow, senses dulled by the sedative as she fought the final seconds before it took over_. _She vaguely remembered Dr. Isles, could conjure to her random images and pieces of their conversation yesterday evening.

_Is it worth it?_ Maura had asked in front of the precinct's stone stairs. She no longer knew. She loved Richard, but there was no getting over what happened tonight. Still, Melanie wished Maura well with her own law enforcement romance. Better, even.

Comprehension dawned on her when Jane stepped closer, just as she succumbed to sleep.

"It doesn't hurt," Jane said softly, catching Maura's hand and pressing it flat against her heart.

* * *

><p>Epilogue - Some weeks later<p>

Midnight came and went.

The metallic grinding rattle of the wrong key shoved into a lock echoed in the empty apartment, followed by shushed giggling and the muffled clinking of glass.

"Next time you need me to rescue you from a bad date, look around first." Jane told Maura upon entering.

"I'm really sorry. If I had known that you were in the same bar-" she stopped, distracted by her new surroundings. The apartment was somehow both not at all what she would have imagined for Jane and perfectly fitting. Warm colors and tasteful lighting stimulated feelings of safety and welcome. She loved that every space was personal, two bookcases lined with well-worn favorites, a few plaques and medals, and a functional herb garden like any good Italian home.

More telling were the pictures that lined most eye level surfaces. Maura lingered in front of one frame that hung near the door. It centered on a young man Maura didn't recognize dressed in the cap and gown that signified graduation from a public high school. Frankie stood next to him, sporting a rather unfortunate hairstyle of years previous, and in between them was a younger Jane, arms wrapped around both brothers with a carefree grin.

"S'okay," Jane called from the kitchen, setting aside a few beer bottles for recycling and grabbing two bottles of water from the refrigerator, "I told you that you could call me for anything and I meant it. But really, what kind of idiot takes a girl to a cop bar and then acts surprised that they got a parking ticket?" She kicked the door closed.

Maura followed, setting down her purse and coat on the dining table, her gaze drawn to a large map of the city hung on the far side of the room. "Technically, the Dirty Robber is a bar and grill. Granted, the title is a bit misleading."

"No, it's ironic. That's why it's- never mind," she laughed and tossed Maura one of the bottles and rounded the table to drop down on the couch, "You know, you don't actually have to go out with everyone who asks. We're going to work on that."

Maura settled next to her, pleasantly inebriated and relaxed. After the first week, and with each successful case, people returned to normal at BPD, including Jane. Some new facet of her personality presented itself daily to Maura, who found herself dedicating more and more of her free time to Jane. She cherished each discovery, whether it was Jane's love of baseball, or stories about the trouble she and her brothers cultivated when they were small, or something as simple as her favorite color. The damage wrought by the Surgeon seemed like a distant memory.

The feeling was mutual. Jane listened openly to the drama of growing up in a French boarding school, even the horrors of her failed engagement. Their friendship was dynamic, a constantly evolving relationship that excited her, when with anyone else she might have been alarmed.

"I'm sorry I can't drive you home," there was only a hint of a slur in her speech, "You can crash here if you want. I advise against taking a taxi this late after drinking."

"I have mace in my purse," Maura made no move to get up however, sinking further into the cushions, feeling drowsy.

"Still, I feel better knowing that you're safe," Jane dropped her phone onto the coffee table, stretching her long legs and propping her feet up.

Maura mimicked her, moving closer than was necessary, pressing against her side. "I'd rather stay here with you," she spoke around a yawn. Jane obliged by wrapping her arm around Maura and tucking her under her shoulder.

She smiled softly, twisting a lock of long golden hair around her finger. "Just how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"How should I know?" Maura murmured, laying her head on Jane's shoulder. "Every time I asked about the meaning of an interesting title, someone ordered it for me to try." She could feel Jane laugh as she continued to play with her hair.

"Sleep, Maur," her voice was a gentle rasp in the quiet apartment.

* * *

><p>Maura was jostled awake around 4:00am. Disoriented, it took several seconds to recall her location. A single lamp lit the room, silent except for muted strains of smooth jazz coming from across the hall. Jane's neighbor, a law student named Melissa, seemed to be pulling a nightlong study session. Maura sighed and buried her face in the curve of Jane's neck, fully intending to sleep through the beginnings of whatever unpleasant physiological effects following heavy consumption of alcohol awaited her in the morning. A slight headache already made itself known, the subdued light of the lamp pricking cruelly at her eyes.<p>

Jane moved under her, still asleep. She shifted uneasily, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Maura roused at the motion, taking notice of the slightly erratic pulse and fluttering eyelids, all normal signs of REM sleep. However, the small muscle in her jaw clenched visibly, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out over her brow.

"Jane?" she sat up slowly, untangling Jane's hand from her hair as she did so. She couldn't know with any certainty the content of Jane's dark dreams.

But by her pained expression, she could guess.

Jane's fingers twitched under Maura's as she held her hand. Her heart ached for her friend. She wondered how many times in the past month that Jane had come into work and brushed off the nightmares as simply working too hard to reassure those around her that she was okay, that everything was back to normal. Maura hadn't so much as thought of the Surgeon in weeks, not since preparing her notes for the trial, preferring to forget. It was a sobering realization that Jane still relived that ordeal at night.

"It's okay," Maura spoke calmly, not wanting to startle her awake, "He can't hurt you again. You're so strong, Jane," she cradled her face in her hand, sweeping back her hair, "Please, you don't have to go through this.

"Not alone," she said close to her ear, "not anymore."

Maura didn't pause to consider what she did next. The conscious decision never crossed her mind. She turned to brush her lips against Jane's in the softest caress of a stolen kiss. She lingered there for a moment, overcome by a rush of feeling she could practically taste, wanting the same peace for Jane.

"I want to help you," she whispered.

"I know."

Maura's eyes shot open, locking with Jane's dark gaze, and she reared back in surprise. Mortified, a flush crept up her neck, while she scrambled for an escape, rapidly devising and rejecting excuses in the weighted seconds that hung suspended between them.

Jane's phone rang from the table.

"Please… don't leave," she said to Maura.

Jane ran a hand over her face as she rose, grabbing the phone and retreating to her bedroom.

"Rizzoli," she answered, not caring if she sounded tired to the caller.

"Hello, Detective," a female voice came over the line. It was frighteningly familiar.

"Dr. Cordell?" Jane sunk down onto the bed.

"Yes. Listen, I know I should have done this weeks ago. I guess I was scared and running away. Anyway, what I wanted to say was, I just…

"Thank you, Jane."

* * *

><p>I made it! Thanks so very much to everyone who has read, reviewed, added this story to their favorites list. Enjoy the premiere tonight!<p>

Until next time, until then. Cheers,

-Picc.


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